The Emissary
by midnightquiver
Summary: The events of 1x01 change and Stiles never gets told about Scott's getting bitten. Their friendship is suddenly jeopardized, and Stiles is also dealing with the anniversary of his mother's death, high school, and werewolves who seem to be flocking to him for help. All except for his true best friend.
1. Chapter 1

So I started this story perquest of orionastro. I hope it is what you hope for. Updates may be a little slow since I am in the middle of two other stories, but I hope you enjoy!

Back of the book blip: What would happen if Scott never told Stiles about his attack in the pilot episode? How would things change within their friendship? Still, Stiles manages to get involved with werewolves, three of them, and they need his help to discover who killed their alpha.

* * *

Chapter 1

Stiles stared up at his bedroom ceiling. His throat was drier than a desert. The images of last night kept flashing through his head. He and Scott barely dodged his dad and search team, but they ended up separated in the dark and cold of the woods.

 _"Scott!" Stiles hissed in a whisper. "Dude! We need to split!"_

 _His dad was heading off in the opposite direction now. The two of them had nearly been caught in the beams of his flashlight. The barks of the K-9 unit got farther and farther away. Now the sounds of the night came back. A light breeze rustled through the trees. The quiet was unnerving. Not even the cicadas were singing. Stiles spun around and let out a sigh. He was lost, but only a little. He scratched the top of his head and pointed one direction and then another. The way out was around here somewhere. In the midst of running, he forgot._

 _There was a crackle of a stick breaking nearby. Stiles jumped and ducked behind a tree, thinking his Dad had doubled back. That was a grounding he didn't want. Peaking around it, he sighed with relief. It was just an elk. A very large and antlery one. Stiles's eyebrows rose as his eyes adjusted. There was more than one. There was a whole herd. What did you call a herd of elk? There was a proper term. He couldn't think of it right now._

 _One of the elk stuck its nose up in the air. Its nostrils filled as it inhaled its surrounding. The entire herd froze, becoming very alert. Stiles remembered seeing something like this on the Discovery Channel. Animals froze like ice when a predator was nearby. He swallowed the lump in his throat. They weren't moving until suddenly they were. Spooked, they came running toward him. Stiles hugged his back to the tree. They flew past him, leaping and bounding. Stiles ducked down and covered his head with his hands. They were so close that he could feel the fur of their legs or underbelly brush his arms here and there. After they passed he looked up in time to see them turn sharply to the left. His heart pounded as heavy as their hooves. He let out the breath he'd been holding in._

 _He started walking in the direction the elk went. A shadow shifting in the trees not that far ahead made him stop. He squinted but it didn't help any in the dark._

 _"Scott?" Stiles called out after a minute or two. He recognized his ridiculous mop of brown hair and that ugly red hoodie._

 _Stiles smirked. Scott truly was a sad excuse sometimes. He was looking for something. Probably lost his inhaler again. Stiles shook his head. What a dork, he thought. He made his way to him, but stopped cold at a rustling of leaves that resembling the sound of footsteps. There was something else out here with them and it was behind Scott. Stiles opened his mouth to shout for his best friend to get out of there, but it was too late._

 _Scott's sudden howl of pain echoed through the woods and he fell. A large animal, Stiles couldn't see what kind, ran off fast. He gasped. Its eyes were red. Stiles couldn't make out what it was. Scott took off running before it could maul him to death, and so did Stiles, in opposite directions again._

 _When Stiles made it back to the Jeep he stopped to catch his breath. His hands were on the U-bar in front of the grill of the vehicle. His head was throbbing._

 _"What the hell?" he breathed. "Scott?"_

 _He didn't call out too loudly. That thing could still be out there. What the hell was it? All he could think about were those eyes. Stiles got into the Jeep and locked all the doors. He drummed on the steering wheel, waiting for Scott. He'd coming running any minute and the two of them would blaze the hell out of here. Ten minutes passed and then thirty. Scott didn't come back to the Jeep. It was pouring hard now. The big droplets hitting the roof sounded like pebbles on tin. He started the car and the headlight beams surged through the darkness. He still couldn't see much. He drove home, careful not to hydroplane._

 _His dad still wasn't home yet. The APB was on in the kitchen. The speakers crackled with white noise followed by his dad's voice. The police were giving up the search and would go back out in the morning. Two campers were missing._

 _Stiles hurried up to his room. He thought about calling Scott but what if he didn't pick up because he was dead in the woods somewhere?_

 _"I'm a terrible friend," Stiles groaned._

 _He fell back onto his bed._

Now, his alarm clock went off, sounding like a fire alarm and making his head pound. Stiles dropped his hand over the off button. He didn't get any sleep at all. He was waiting for a call and then for his father to come and tell him that Scott was dead. It never happened.

The first day of school wouldn't be filled with jitters and happiness in seeing his other friends. He was even contemplating skipping lacrosse tryouts. What was the point? Sit on the bench and be reminded that your best friend was ripped apart?

He didn't eat breakfast and barely said anything to his dad. His jaw was locked tight, afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd say everything. He knew that his dad would only say it was a nightmare or worse, ground him for being out in the woods last night. His head was reeling with what to do.

Upon entering the school parking lot, he slammed on the brakes, causign him to lurch forward and nearly hit his forehead off the wheel. The car behind him nearly rammed into him and honked viciously. Stiles stared, expressionless and slowly pulled into an empty parking spot, but he didn't look away from the sight of Scott who was locking his bike into the bike rack. His face was pinched with frustration trying to get the front wheel to fit.

Stiles nearly fell out of the car he was moving so fast to get out. Scott smiled and patted him on the back. Stiles's mouth was so dry that it felt like it was filled with cotton. Scott was alive and…alive.

"What happened to you last night?" Scott asked. He wasn't hurt at all

"I could ask you the same," Stiles replied with a half laugh.

"After your dad nearly catching us, I just ran. I ended up in the middle of a road. I hiked from there since you already dipped out and left me there," Scott explained. There wasn't the slightest hitch in his voice.

Stiles's eyes narrowed on him. Scott didn't bring up the huge beast from the woods. He saw it, right? This wasn't a case of hypothermia that caused hallucinations for Stiles? He saw it attack Scott or try to.

"That's it?" he asked.

"Yeah." Scott chuckled.

"Really?" Stiles asked.

"Yeah," Scott laughed.

Stiles was thankful that his best friend wasn't dead. He did get away from whatever was out there…but what was that thing? The thought got away from him as the gorgeous goddess that was the strawberry blonde, Lydia Martin, walked past him into the school.

"Heeey, Lydia," he said, falling back on the metal banister of the main walkway. "You look like you're…going to ignore me."

He sighed hopelessly. One look would've done him in,but he didn't even get that. Cold, yet...he smiled.

"One day she is going to recognize that we're meant to be together."

Scott shook his head, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

The first day of school was the usual first day of school. Friends were overly excited about seeing one another even though they've been hanging out all summer. Teachers didn't want to teach on the first day so they gave everyone a syllabus and let them tak until the bell rang. However, Scott fumbling smoothly over the new girl was intriguing.l

Lacrosse tryouts were interesting. The routine was the same as last year except for those that were trying out for the first time. for the others, they were all finding out if they were first or second string.

While Stiles sat on the bench for the first rounds, chewing on the tips of his gloves while his knee bounced up and down anxiously. All of it stopped when he saw Scott throw the ball into the net and score. Everyone froze. Scott scored again. Stiles's jaw dropped. When did he get so good suddenly? Coach Finstock half enraged and half excited, shouted,

"Jackson! Get in there!"

Stiles looked between Scott and Jackson and back. Scott said he'd been practicing, but there was no way that he improved this much. He wasn't the only one surprised either. Lydia and Allison-the new girl, were on their feet. Scott grinned goofily and made his final shot. The ball whizzed straight down the middle, piercing the goalie net into the goal.

Stiles shot up to his feet half amazed and half in shock. Was what Scott just did possible? Who cares!? My best friend is awesome, Stiles thought excitedly. That excitement evaporated quickly as he saw Scott tense up angrily and his…eyes turn yellow? That's not right. That's not possible. Stiles blinked a couple times and what he thought he saw was gone. He had to be imagining it, which was a weird thing to imagine. Stiles blamed it on the lack of sleep. He thought he saw his mashed potatoes move and try to wiggle

Scott looked in his direction and smiled.

"That's my best friend!" Stiles shouted.

He spun around with his hand up in the air much like John Bender in _The Breakfast Club_. He slowed at seeing a blonde girl up in the bleachers. She looked really familiar but he couldn't place her.

Her blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders in loose curls that were more like waves. Her cheeks were blushed a light cherry and she wore light blue skinny jeans with t-shirt with white daisies on it and light brown leather ankle boots. Those eyes though. They were familiar. She smiled and let her head fall forward. Her cheeks reddened. Stiles smiled in that awkwardly charming way and let his hand drop. She was very pretty.

Turning back around, Scott and the other players were switching out and Coach was calling out his name. My turn to shine, Stiles thought. Except that he didn't shine. Nope. He ended up kissing the ground the most. After the fourth tackle he got the feeling that his teammates were tackling him on purpose. Coach laughing from the sidelines confirmed it.

Coach called out the positions after the long and excruciating drills. Stiles ended up second string again. That's all good and well. Less injuries and a seat with his name on it, though it would've been better if there was a position with his name on it instead. Scott however made first string. Stiles gave him an encouraging nudge.

Stiles turned back to the bleachers. The blonde was gone. A small part of him wondered where she was off to, but then he caught Lydia descending the bleachers and greeting her boyfriend, captain of the lacrosse team, Jackson. I really hate him, Stiles thought. Stiles waited with an overwhelming amount of awkwardness as Scott and Allison exchanged small talk before Jackson and Lydia leered him off. Stiles looked back up in the bleachers, but the blonde was gone.

"Dude," Scott called his attention. "Let's go get some food before I have to go pick up my mom."

"Uh, yeah," Stiles said.

They stopped by the Dairy King. The ice scream shop served more than just ice cream. It also served deep-fried and cholesterol killing foods. Nothing like deep-fried pickles and vanilla ice cream to destroy dinner which is exactly what Stiles went with. He and Scott took one of the less messy picnic tables after getting their food. There was only an empty cup and straw papers.

"How'd you make those shots today? I mean, you were unreal on the field." Stiles said right before taking a bite of deep-fried pickle.

Scott paused, staring at his burger for a long moment before responding. Stiles caught the look. Scott was just as surprised and didn't have a good answer.

"I don't know. I guess I was just on my game." Scott replied with a shrug.

Neither boy realized they were being watched a couple picnic tables down.

"Are you sure or do you just have a crush on him?" came a snide comment.

"Both, not that it's your concern who I have interest in." Erica, blonde and full of bossiness at the moment said.

The one who made the comment turned and looked over his shoulder at Stiles. He scratched his head with uncertainty. His mess of blonde curls wove between his fingers.

"He was a complete spaz on the field today." Brett, tall, broad shouldered, and disgruntled said. His baby blues scowled at Stiles, and he hoped that the human felt it.

"And, you were late for tryouts." Erica pointed out.

"It won't be very difficult to fix that. Just a little…" he grinned cockily, "persuasion."

Erica's eyebrows lifted. She didn't want to know what he meant by that. She shook her head.

Boyd, next to Erica, was eating his garbage fries, letting the two bicker. Though Brett was a year younger than them, he still held his own. Erica was the leader though. Ever since Derek…she just took the lead for them to protect them, and she did well, but now summer was over and school was in session and a problem still sat on the horizon for all three of them. Erica had never been wrong. Her intuition was strong and never failed. If Stiles was somebody they could trust outside of all of this, then he was with her.

Brett pulled up the hood of his black hoodie and lay his head down on his arms. Erica quirked and eyebrow and smirked in victory. The baby wolf was always defiant and protective. She patted his shoulder. He only grumbled incoherently.

Stiles was excited once the first week of school was over. He contemplated not even getting up on Saturday until Scott came by around seven in the morning to catch a ride to lacrosse practice. Stiles groaned and rolled out of bed, hitting the floor with a thud. Fifteen minutes later he was trotting downstairs with his gym bag. Scott sat at the dining table. Stiles's dad had already left for the day.

Aside from the usual drills that all players took part in, Stiles rode the bench. He tightened the net of his lacrosse stick and watched as Scott excelled on the field. He wasn't the only one either. Two new players had been added to the team. One was Isaac Lahey who was sitting at the other end of the bench and staring at the ground in a daze and the other was Brett Talbot who was out there with the other players. He and his sister transferred from some private school. Devenford. Stiles eyed Isaac out the corner of his eye. He didn't move once and he looked like he had a black eye. Stiles could tell if it was just a shadow.

Mostly, Brett and Scott faced off on the field while Jackson tried to keep up. Coach was hooting and hollering at both of them.

"Oh," Coach laugh maniacally, "this season is going to be good."

Stiles looked around and saw Lydia and Allison talking among themselves. Scott was going with her to Lydia's party tonight. That left Stiles stag but that's okay. That was his life. He let out a sigh. What did Lydia see in Jackson? Oh wait. He was captain of the team. Right.

Maybe if he talked to Scott he could teach him some of whatever's made him so great of a player. That would get Lydia's attention and who knows, maybe she'd go with him to Homecoming or at the very latest, Prom.

After practice, he and Scott headed for the Jeep. Stiles slowed halfway there and whatever Scott was telling him about his excitement about tonight was lost as Stiles's attention was drawn to the Camaro that was parked a few cars down. He suddenly looked at Brett who was getting in the car.

"Hey, what do you know about Brett?" Stiles asked.

"Nothing much. He's a freshman. Why?" Scott's eyebrows knitted together in a curious manner.

"Just wondering. He's weird." Brett had a constant intimidating glare.

Scott sighed and Stiles snapped to him, thinking he heard something like 'he's not the only one' come from his friend. Scott didn't elude to anything. Something was definitely different about Scott, but there was something weird about Brett too. Stiles thought about the blonde again. He thought about her a lot this week. She was in his P.E. class. She didn't talk to anyone except…Vernon Boyd. That's when it dawned on Stiles right then. His eyes widened at the small revelation of finally placing her face. That was Erica Reyes. He hadn't seen her in a long while. She had never crossed his radar, but not a lot of people did.

The Camaro that Brett got into with her pulled out of the lot and sped off.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Stiles parked down the street from Lydia's house. The only reason he got invited to her party was because he was technically on the lacrosse team. The house was crowded from wall to wall with people. He wandered around until he happened across Stacy and Danny. They were in intense conversation about the new additions to the team. Danny was really intrigued and glazy-eyed about Brett. Stiles had never heard him talk so much about a guy. Stiles hadn't hung out with Danny this much ever. Danny was Jackson's best friend, which perfectly explained why. Jackson was a jerk.

Scott had wandered out by the pool with Allison. Danny dispersed after seeing Brett arrive. Brett didn't come alone either. Erica and Boyd were here with him. The two split off once Danny and Brett started talking. It seemed like they did not want to be wing-men to their flirting. Stiles wandered around the house a little, sipping from his cup. No alcohol. He was driving.

The night was going surprisingly well. Better than last year when he'd knocked over the keg. Thank god everyone forgot about it. Stiles leaned against the wall of the staircase. Stacy and him were still hanging out and talking about their summers when Scott came barreling through, holding his stomach. His face etched with pain. Stiles caught him as he started to fall.

"Hey, you okay Scott?" Stiles asked.

Scott groaned, and Stiles thought he heard a low growl too. Scott pushed him away hard and crawled to the doorway. Several people laughed, thinking he was drunk. Stiles on the other hand could tell that this wasn't alcohol. He hurried after him, not noticing Erica's eyes on him, her golden yellow eyes.

Boyd came to her side, carrying Brett on one side with his arm around his waist and Brett's around his neck. The three of them disappeared without attracting attention.

"Scott!" Stiles called out as he came to a halt in the front yard. Scott was gone.

"Scott?" The voice was small and timid.

Stiles spun around. Allison stood on the front steps, staring about worriedly with her arms hugged tightly around herself.

"Hey," Stiles said. "Uh, don't worry. He's always…weird around girls and stuff."

Stiles frowned. He could've come up with something better but had nothing because Scott had never run off due to a girl, and he was also never around girls. Stiles called Melissa-Scott's mom-to see if she'd heard from him. She said she didn't, but was now officially worried and tasked him with finding Scott. Stiles called the only other person who might know Scott's whereabouts, though the odds were slim.

Stiles's Jeep swung into the parking lot of the animal clinic-Scott's place of work. It was the only other place he could think of. The office lights were still on. He tried the door, which was stupid since it was past closing. No surprise, it was locked. He pounded on the glass.

"Deaton!" he called. "Hey, are you in there? Have you seen Scott? Deaton!"

A dark figure poked out the door into the dark hallway past the front desk. It came forward, revealing itself to be the veterinarian, Deaton. He unlocked the door.

"Stiles, what are you doing here?" Deaton asked.

"Have you seen Scott? He was at a party and then left. He looked like he was in pain. That or on the verge of a serious puke-fest. Do you know where he could've gone?" The words left Stiles's mouth in one breath.

Deaton's head turned slightly as he tried to think. He shook his head just as bewildered as Stiles.

"I'm sorry. No," he replied. "If I hear from him I'll be sure to call."

Stiles sighed. Mumbling a thanks, he turned and got back in the Jeep and left. Stiles drove all over town well into the wee hours of the morning and still never found Scott. He tried to get the Sheriff, also known as father, to put out an APB, but he refused, saying that he was probably home and passed out in bed already. Stiles eventually fell asleep at his desk.

When he woke up on Sunday morning the keyboard was imprinted on his cheek. He rubbed his groggy eyes and glanced at the time on his computer. It was early. He pulled out his cell phone and called Scott. The line picked up on the second ring.

"Hello?" Scott's voice was gravelly hoarse.

"Hey!" Stiles exclaimed. "Dude! Where were you!? I've been losing my freaking mind. Allison was worried too."

"Uhh, Ummm, sorry. I was just-Just sick." Scott replied.

"You looked a little more than sick," Stiles said.

"Stiles!" Scott exclaimed angrily. "I'm fine!"

"Fine!" Stiles exclaimed with equal rage and then hung up.

He didn't see Scott for the rest of day and that was fine. He was already behind on homework.

Scott didn't talk about Saturday at all and Stiles didn't ask. Scott was perfectly fine again. At lunch, Allison came over ant sat with Scott. The two ensued in idle chit-chat while Stiles was more consumed with the fact that Lydia tagged along and now sat diagonally across from him. Danny sat on his other side. Stiles smiled and received an estranged look from the fellow lacrosse player. He turned his gaze back on Lydia. His eyes pooled with a daydreamy gaze.

Scott went to work after school with Stiles following. Scott deemed it unnecessary, but Stiles was reluctant after his runaway over the weekend. Maybe it was overprotective, but the sudden illness was strange and he wasn't giving it up just yet. Their small bits of bickering stopped quickly and Scott gave him a question filled look. Stiles was just as intrigued as he was.

The Sheriff was there talking with the vet when they arrived. Stiles earned a look from his father. He just shrugged and lingered by the front counter. There, he could hear bits and pieces of the conversation between his father and Deaton.

"They're talking about the two bodies they found over the weekend," Scott said, having caught the strained look on Stiles's face. "Your dad suspects an animal attack."

Stiles nodded and then shot him a look of alarm. How could he hear them? Stiles could barely make anything out. From here, their conversation sounded like whispers. Before he could ask, his dad was coming toward them with Deaton in tow.

"Boys," he greeted.

"I see you found Scott," Deaton commented with a friendly smile.

Stiles nodded. Sheriff Stilinski pulled Stiles out the door by the arm. A look of frustration and confusion pressed across his tired features. This job was an exhausting one, but Stiles knew that nobody else could do it better even though he threw himself into the job even more after the loss of his wife-Stiles's mother. Stiles didn't blame him. It was hard on both of them. She was a great woman.

"What are you doing here?" the Sheriff asked.

"I was giving Scott a ride." Not the best lie, but whatever worked.

"Really? His bicycle was broken?"

"It's called being a good friend." Stiles fired out.

Sheriff Stilinski shook his head and sighed.

"Go home. Do your homework. Be a normal kid."

"Let's be honest. I'm not," Stiles said. "Normal, I mean. But you know that. You can't ask impossible and improbable things of me."

The Sherriff rubbed the spot above his nose. Stiles grinned childishly. It was moments like these that he knew he was pressing buttons. They weren't the buttons that got you grounded, but the ones in which he'd probably get swatted.

"So there was an animal attack? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Let's see…" Sheriff Stilinski started. "You're not a fellow police officer, and you were out doing the teenager thing and going to a party when I specifically said not to."

Stiles's face blanked. Oh shit. He let out a nervous laugh and bit his tongue.

"I wasn't at a party." He shook his head.

"Oh really? You want to go there?" The Sheriff challenged him a raised eyebrow.

"Well, it wasn't a party. It was a very large…study group."

"Did this study group have alcohol? And, was the host a certain redhead?"

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and then let out a whistle. Lydia's hair was actually strawberry blonde, but close enough.

"Would it help my case at all if I said that I didn't drink...like at all?" Stiles squinted hopefully.

The sheriff snorted and mumbled incoherently.

"Only my kid."

He walked past him and to his SUV. Stiles let out a breath of relief. No swatting. Good.

"Hey, Dad?" Stiles called after him. The sheriff turned with the open car door in his hand. "The animal attack was on Saturday? You're sure?"

"That's when we got the call. The coroner said it was around midnight."

Stiles turned. Through the front window of the animal clinic, Scott and Deaton were talking at the front desk. Scott left the party close to eleven-thirty. Stiles didn't ask him about it. If it was related, Scott wouldn't hold out on him. He was his best friend. He trusted him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Stiles bit at his bottom lip the way he did when he was trying figure something out and he was. What the hell killed those campers? As usual, his Dad didn't give him very much information, but when Stiles got home later that evening he was pleasantly happy to find that his Dad left police files on the kitchen table.

"You really shouldn't bring your work home with you, Dad," Stiles sighed. He glanced around. Teetering forward he grazed over the papers with his eyes. It was about the attack.

He slid into a chair quickly and was scanning every little bit that he could. The police thought this was a wolf attack which made zero sense. The black and white, and color photos of the crime scene and bodies were grisly. Stiles's stomach twisted and yanked and he struggled to hold back vomit. These victims were in pieces. Wolves did this? Wolves haven't been in California in over fifty years. Maybe it was a mountain lion of bear. The one person who'd know would be the only vet in the area; the same person that his Dad was talking to early today. Deaton.

After practice on Wednesday, Stiles went to the clinic. He picked Wednesday for a specific reason. Scott wasn't working and had a big date with Allison. He was taking her bowling which was a terrible idea. He couldn't bowl at all. He had no skill. His ball always ended up in the gutter. On top of that it was a double date with Lydia and Jackson. Jackson was going to enjoy ripping Scott a new one. But at least Scott wouldn't be asking Stiles an awful lot of questions.

So, Stiles took advantage and went down to the clinic close to closing time. There wouldn't be any more patients to worry about and hopefully he'd get some answers. The lights in the front were off, but light glowed out the doorway of one of the exam rooms.

"Hello? Deaton?" Stiles called out, standing less than a centimeter to the swinging doors that led to the back. "It's me, Stiles."

Deaton shuffled from his office. His head tilted to the side ever so slightly.

"Stiles, what are you doing here? Scott isn't here." Deaton said. He rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head side to side, relieving stiffness.

"Yeah, I know. That's why I'm here." Stiles dived in instantly. "I know my Dad talked to you about the attack on those campers. He said it was because of animals? He thinks it matches wolves, but that's not possible, is it?"

Stiles's eyes narrowed. Deaton didn't reply right away. He was searching for the right answer carefully. That was enough of an answer in and of itself. He did suspect it.

"I don't know about wolves." Deaton said and laughed softly. "There haven't-"

"Been wolves for over fifty years. Yeah, I know. But you think different. Don't you?"

"I think that it's more likely a mountain lion." Deaton replied easily.

Deaton does this thing when he lies. He smiles and it's too genuine, too kind to be real. He was doing it right now as he was telling Stiles this. He thought this was wolves. In fact, the lie within that thin lipped smile confirmed it. Not only that, but he knew what it was that really killed those people.

"No, you don't." Stiles said. "What was it? Really."

"Stiles, it was a mountain lion."

Stiles nodded and clicked his tongue off the roof of his mouth unsatisfied. Deaton wasn't going to tell him a thing. It was stupid to hope that he would.

"I'll figure it out myself then." Stiles said, shaking his head. Deaton sighed, feeling Stiles's disappointment. He knew that the teenager wouldn't stop until he found what he was looking for.

He sighed and waited until the bell over the front rang—a signal of Stiles's exit, and then picked up the phone on the front desk. He pressed each number with a growing sense of dread. When the line picked up he spoke without expecting a reply.

"You need to know," he watched as the powder blue Jeep pulled out of the parking lot, "he's going to find out. There's no stopping it. Be prepared."

He put the phone back on the hook and made his way back to his office. Beacon Hills was changing quickly. He wasn't going to be able to keep at this secret like he hoped. He was going to have to make a return to the old ways. Others were counting on him and it wasn't in him to turn away family. This pleasant life he'd come to make for himself as a vet was going to dissipate quickly unfortunately.

"So how'd the date go?" Stiles asked, fresh on Thrusday. He and Scott were in the library for study hall. "You bombed, didn't you?"

He smirked, trying not to laugh. Scott had no ability for smooth moves. He was completely awkward, so Stiles took pleasure in it when he could. Entertainment in this town was slim.

At a table across the room, Stiles caught Boyd and Erica staring at him. Their gaze was both intense and hypnotizing. The two were mumbling to each other. Stiles looked away, creeped out, and hungry? His stomach gurgled a complaint. Yeah, hungry.

"Actually, it went really well. I won a game," Scott said.

"No," Stiles said in disbelief, shaking his wildly. "But you suck at bowling. Like seriously, you're the worst."

" I know! It's crazy." Scott chuckled, his shoulders shaking.

"Yeah," Stiles said. His eyes strayed back to Erica and Boyd, but they were gone and their chairs were neatly pushed in.

"Are you okay?" Scott asked. His eyebrows furrowed with worry.

"Uh, yeah. What about you?" Stiles quirked an eyebrow.

"Yeah, of course, but I'm not the one spacing out."

The bell rang for the last class.

"So do think Coach is going to kill us during practice today?" Scott asked. "Our first game is tomorrow."

"You guys, probably. Me? Nope. I'm the professional bench-rider. I'm lucky when he get even close to knowing my name."

Scott snorted. He always made jokes about that.

"You're getting off the bench this season and I'm going to make sure of it."

Stiles was walking backwards and as he spun around, his shoulder collided with what felt like a brick wall. Pain surged down half his body. He gasped and his face contorted all screwy. His hand flew up to his shoulder.

"Sorry."

Stiles rubbed his shoulder. Isaac glanced at the two, his shoulders hunched over and his hands stuffed in his pocket tensely and kept walking. Stiles shook his and shrugged. He didn't completely die from the nudge, but his shoulder was throbbing pretty badly.

Stiles stared after the senior. He never really talked to anyone. He kind of stopped sophomore year when his mom died and his brother was KIA overseas. Death took its toll on everyone. There were rumors around school too that his Dad wasn't exactly the nicest guy around. No one confirmed it. Jackson was his neighbor and never had a thing to say about him except that he was a gravedigger loser.

Thinking about Isaac reminded Stiles of the upcoming anniversary of losing his mother. He went every year. It was next month which wasn't extremely soon, but soon enough that he was going to be thinking about it constantly on top of his own personal investigation.

"Are you okay?" Scott asked.

"Uh," Stiles nodded. "Just thinking."

"About your mom?"

"Yeah," Stiles replied quietly. His head hung and looked at his worn down shoes.

Scott could always tell when Stiles was thinking about her. There was that drop in the usual loud personality.

Biology was boring as usual and Stiles found himself highlighting the entire page.

"Mr. Stilinski, It's a textbook, not a coloring book. Try taking a break." Mr. Harris said as he wandered past the table.

Stiles glared and popped the highlighter cap out of his mouth. It shot upwards and was caught effortlessly. Scott kept his head down, snickering. His knee bounced up and down radically. Stiles noted the tight grip he had on his pencil.

At the bell, Stiles stood with his bookbag on his shoulder.

"Not you Stilinski." Mr. Harris said.

"Wha?" Stiles squawked, throwing his hands up.

"Detention."

"But I didn't do anything!"

Mr. Harris pointed for him to sit. Two other poor souls walked in to join the boring activity of sitting and staring up at the clock as it ticked by ever so slowly. Brett and Cory. Stiles had noticed the two become fast friends. Before they could sit together, Mr. Harris put them at separate tables. Stiles suppressed a groan and let his head fall onto his arms on the lab table.

A fly landed on his arm and he waved it off.

"Have a question Mr. Stilinski?"

Mr. Harris was paging through a magazine and Stiles knew full-well that the question was more or less rhetorical. The bored look remained plastered on his face while stared at him complete and utter hatred.

"Yeah, can I leave? This is abuse. I didn't even do anything." Stiles complained.

Brett snorted behind him and nodded. Mr. Harris however, was not amused.

"You have twenty-four more minutes of sitting here. Try to make that time useful and not speak." Mr. Harris said without looking up.

Stiles grumbled to himself. The half hour ticked by extremely slowly and extremely quietly. This version of _The Breakfast Club_ would be a straight-to-video flick that nobody would buy. That is unless they wanted it just for the deleted scenes of Stiles's thoughts about smacking Mr. Harris for this unjust imprisonment.

"You may go," Mr. Harris got up, packing his magazine into his leather brief case. He left the room first like the pompous ass he was and as always, in some sort of hurry to get away from the infectious disease this school was.

"What an ass," Brett sighed behind Stiles.

Stiles pointed over his shoulder at him in agreement, but didn't turn around. He needed to get to practice. The hallways were deserted. Stiles rounded the corner to his locker so that he could drop off his bookbag and paused mid-step. Erica Reyes leaned casually next to his locker. He walked up like it was no big deal, though inwardly there were several questions bouncing around in his head, all of which centered around: why is she at my locker?

Erica's eyes followed him as he stopped beside her and played with the lock dial and opened the tiny cubicle that held his stuff. A few papers fell out. He shuffled to keep the mess in and managed to shove his bag in it. After closing his locker he turned to her.

"Why have you been watching me? And, now you're here at my locker." He walked away a few steps and then spun back around, nearly running into the blonde. "Are you stalking me? I mean if you are it's a first for me and it doesn't bother me all that much."

Erica smirked and gave a small nod as if waiting for him to finish. His lips pursed together; a sign that he didn't know what else to say.

"I just want to tell you to be careful." She said.

"Careful? Careful, why?"

Erica walked away, but Stiles followed in pursuit. Coach was going to be pissed that he was missing practice. If he noticed. What does she mean careful? He got the nagging feeling in his gut that she was referring to his personal investigation. What did she know that he didn't?

Erica spun, stopping quickly and nearly causing him to run into her.

"Just be careful. It would be terrible if you got yourself hurt."

It was getting irritating hearing that, not that he heard it very often. It was the insinuation everybody was giving him. Even Scott gave off that vibe when he asked him about his newfound physical abilities. Why couldn't he get straight answers?

"If I'm getting close to whatever killed those campers, whatever people are trying to keep from me then I'm going to figure it out." Stiles said.

"Stiles, I'm serious." Her voice was gentle which was strange because nothing about her fierce appearance was gentle.

"And, why should I trust you? I barely even know you. Huh?"

"Because I'm trying to-" she cut herself off and waved him off with both hands. "Forget it."

"Erica."

Both teens turned to see Boyd making his way down the hall toward them. Brett was with him. Coach was definitely going to notice

"He's not as dumb as he looks. Just tell him," Brett said. Boyd sighed with a look of resignation. "Better yet, just show him. He won't quit."

Stiles's eyebrows scrunched and he looked to each of them with an abundance of confusion.

Erica growled under her breath and rolled her eyes. Stiles's eyes narrowed as his eyes switched between all of them. They surrounded him from all sides. His heart rattled in his chest. The wall that each of them created around him seemed to be closing in. His chest constricted and his breaths became short. The outside of his vision pulsed.

"Show me what?" He barely made the words out. Brett smirked, making him feel even more uneasy.

"You did say he was the one-open minded or whatever. He's certainly too smart for his own good. He's going to figure it out with or without us. You know it's better if he's with us and us him," Brett said.

Erica's head lolled forward and she pinched the bridge of her nose like an exhausted parent with the toughest decision.

"You're right," she said quietly.

Stiles dipped his head a little, trying to get a peek at her face. Her hair fell to each side like beautiful silk curtains. He gave a quick fading smile.

"Right?" he said.

Erica raised her head and the moment she did the air in Stiles's lungs whooshed out like a cold wind.

"Oh my god," he breathed.

Erica stared at him with golden eyes. All three of them did. They were vibrant like a light came on inside of them.

"We didn't want to involve you if we didn't have to," Erica said.

Stiles watched as each of their eyes dimmed back to their natural eye colors, and they all stood timidly in front him like five-year-olds not wanting to fess up to something bad they'd done. It was weird. He should be the one cowering, yet they were afraid of _him_. What their eyes did, it wasn't natural. What the hell?

"So uh, your eyes are seriously weird. What's that mean?" Stiles asked.

"The animal attacks weren't normal, were they?" Boyd piped up. "There was something off? They were wolves?"

"Wolves haven't-"

"We know the spiel." Brett interrupted. He looked away and at the lockers as if they held more appeal.

Erica shot him a glare. He just shrugged it off.

"We're…" Erica struggled. She took in a deep breath. "We're werewolves."

Stiles's eyebrows rose, but he didn't speak. He was too stunned. He bit his lower lip and slid out of the circle.

"The medical condition you guys share is interesting and all, but I think that's a stretch since werewolves," he laughed the word out, "aren't real. Now, I have lacrosse practice to get to and so do you." He pointed at Brett.

He walked off. Boyd and Brett turned to Erica.

"Way to go. He thinks we're psychotic," Brett sneered.

"He just needs convincing. I'll handle it," Erica said.

"You better," Boyd said darkly. "Or else he'll end up like our alpha."

Erica hated it when they brought Derek up. He sacrificed himself for them, so that they could live, survive. The attacks here couldn't have been coincidence which meant that he could be right. They were putting him in serious danger, and they needed him on their side. It shouldn't take much convincing though, Erica thought.

Stiles came home to an empty house. Dad was still at the station, but the APB was still on. There was gurgled speech between the static. He froze as he pulled a can of Coke from the fridge and then spun around and hurdled himself closer to the APB.

"Ambulance has been called. We're going to need back-up down here at the high school."

High school? Suddenly he thought about Erica and the others.

"Homicide. Please send back-up."

His dad replied.

"Copy that. On my way."

Stiles gnawed on his lower lip. Another animal attack? Another murder. His

"Stiles, if you're listening, go do your homework. Now."

Stiles glared at the ancient relic machine and shook his head. Figures. He always knew when he was listening. Stiles grabbed his soda and then went upstairs.

Even as he did his homework he couldn't stop thinking about what Erica had told him. The look on her face when she told him, the sincerity on her face-she really believed she was a werewolf. They all did. He should've too. This kind of theory was right up his alley. Why didn't he?

He knew why. It was so illogical that it strangely made sense. Stiles found himself researching werewolves and all kinds of folktales as well as terrible fanfiction came up in the search. He shivered. The stories really took bestiality to a new level. He did find a few sites that seemed pretty serious about sightings around the world of the beast as well as mutilations of cows and sheep and even unsolved murders, and there was also a long history of them and their evolution over time.

"A little research?" Stiles's whole body tremored from the sudden scare. The entire bedroom was dark except for his computer screen. He didn't realize that the sun had gone down already. "That doesn't look like homework."

His dad stood over him with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Geez!" Stiles exclaimed, breathing heavily. The Sheriff smirked.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Oh!" Stiles's hands motioned as he tried to find the perfect excuse. "There's this project in World History. We're researching myths and legends around the world."

"You're taking World History?"

"Uh, well no, but I could. This is a great head start." Stiles shrugged and nodded. It sounded like a good excuse.

"Uh-huh." However, the quickly thought up story didn't convince him. The Sheriff shook his head and walked out of the room. Before leaving though, he paused and turned. "Go to bed at a reasonable hour this time."

Stiles gave a serious salute with his eyes still glued to his computer screen.

"I'm serious."

"Mhm. Yup, reasonable. Got it." Stiles droned out, already zoned back into technology land.

The Sheriff sighed. He couldn't complain too much. Stiles could be like every other teenage boy and watching porn at this late hour. It was one less thing to worry about.

Stiles rubbed his sleep deprived eyes and flipped on his desk lamp, craning it so that it didn't completely blind him.

"Find anything interesting?"

Stiles jumped yet again and gripped the edges of his desk automatically as if it would stop his heart from jumping out of his chest and then out the window. Erica grinned and in the lighting it look grim.

"Do you just sneak through people's bedroom windows?"

"Sometimes." She admitted. "You're special."

"Ha." He said unamused. "Are you going to push more of that werewolf crap on me because I don't know. I mean the evidence does make sense, but I just can't," he made a rolling motion with his hands, "wrap my head around it."

"I know. It's why I dropped by."

"Oh, here I thought it was because you had a thing for me," he smirked.

Erica's eyes flattened. The sarcasm was unneeded but in a way she understood. Werewolves were a lot to take in. The concept was make-believe. When she'd been bitten, she didn't believe it at all.

"Look, when-when I was bitten," she took a breath. "I didn't believe either. But my seizures stopped and my overabundance of acne vanished. Boys started looking at me. Everything changed." Her face relaxed in the reminiscence.

"You really believe you're lycanthropic." Stiles's eyebrows pressed together. "Show me."

"What?" Erica looked up at him. He still sat relaxed in chair, resigned.

In the lamp light, he saw her face shift naturally. Her lips jutted because of teeth that had become suddenly sharp and elongated like a canines. Her ears poked out of her blonde hair with pointed tips at the cartilage and the muscle around her eyes and cheeks shifted and intensified. Her eyes glowed again and Stiles let out a hollow breath.

"Holy shit. You were serious. I wanted to believe but it just didn't…" He trailed off.

He slowly stood up and walked towards her. His head tilted to get a different angle. She really did take on the wolf-like form. She was a werewolf.

"Okay. So yeah. You're right and uh, wow." He stuttered out. Erica rolled her eyes. he wasn't afraid, but just surprised. It was a pleasant surprise that registered on his face. "Why tell me this again?"

"You're an idiot and putting yourself in danger."

"Hey, come on! I'm not that stupid. Apparently I was close to figuring this all out or else you wouldn't have come out with it." he said defensively.

Erica said nothing in response, and he knew he was right. She relaxed and her facial features retracted back to normal. It all looked effortless the way she did it.

"That is something," Stiles said in wonder.

"You can't tell anyone. Not even your best friend, Scott."

Stiles nodded, but the words went in one ear and out the other like most things did.

"So why tell me?" he asked.

"I told you-"

"For my own protection, but I don't think that's the only reason."

"Go to sleep." Erica firmly ended the conversation and moved to the open window. She swung one leg out and looked back at him. "Lock your window."

"Hey," he said right before she left. She turned, her hair falling from her shoulders. "You know who killed those people don't you?"

"Goodnight Stiles." And she was gone.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Stiles sat in his Jeep until the first bell rang. The shrill sound cut through his internal debate on whether to tell Scott about the new information he'd been given or not. In the end, he decided against it. Scott was a little on the sensitive side, and he would probably laugh anyway. This insanity was best left with him and only him for right now. Maybe later, when he had a better grip on all of this new information, he'd tell Scott, but not right now. Stiles was still trying to connect the dots. All he had so far was: Erica, Boyd and Brett were werewolves and werewolves were what killed those three people, but it wasn't them. And, for some reason he knew about all of it because they felt like sharing. That part was still a little fuzzy. Why did they share all of this?

He spent most of the day thinking about it. That and how his mother's anniversary was creeping up and before that was the full moon on Friday. There was something else that day too, but he couldn't remember. Erica and the others wanted him to be there when they changed.

"Stiles."

Stiles, at his locker, spun around, knocking his elbow against the metal door. Scott and Allison came up beside him.

"Hey," Stiles said, rubbing his elbow. "Where have you been?"

"I was actually going to ask you that. You were late to practice the other day?" Scott said as they walked to English.

"Oh." Stiles paused in a moment of panic, remembering why. He needed to think quick before Erica's secret spilled out. "Did Coach notice?"

"No."

Stiles let out a breath of relief that had been stuck in his chest. cool and collected were two things he wasn't, but he felt good about his quick thinking. He'd completely forgotten about being late to lacrosse and then suddenly he remembered and stopped walking. Their first lacrosse game was on Friday; the same night as the full moon. Crap.

"Well, that's good." Stiles said with a shrug.

Inside, he was freaking out. The game wasn't the problem. It would be easy to miss the game. Coach wouldn't even notice. He'd be too into the game. This was going to be the first time he saw the change. It was both exciting and terrifying.

"Hello? Are you in there?" Allison laughed.

Stiles shook his head from his thoughts as they entered English class. Scott was giving him a funny look.

"What?"

Both she and Scott laughed. Stiles sneered at the both of them. They were so cute it made him want to vomit.

"Did you finish the homework?" Scott asked, which meant that Scott forgot and needed to copy. But unfortunately, there wasn't anything to copy.

A pained expression form on Stiles's face that blatantly said he didn't do it either. He'd been good about it lately. Erica's visit and news distracted him. It was a good excuse if he could use which of course he couldn't.

"Uhhhhh…" he said instead.

"We suck," Scott pouted with a pathetic nod.

Stiles tapped the eraser end of his pencil on the fresh page of his notebook. His lips pursed together with shame as his Dad's words from last night echoed in his head. Go do your homework. Stiles sighed. There was going to be a heavy, shame-filled scowl when the teacher would come around collecting.

However, luck was on his and Scott's side today. The homework wasn't collected. Instead, it was just used for class discussion, which meant Stiles pulled it out of thin air and earned a couple points for creativity. This plastered a stupid grin on his face.

After school, Stiles parked on the bench beside Isaac after the usual start-up drills during practice. Isaac was guzzling from his water bottle. Stiles watched as Scott dominated the field and Jackson increasingly hated it. Seeing Jackson so furious was pleasing.

"So, uh, how's it going," Stiles said to Isaac with a nod that was more of an awkward twitch.

Isaac slowly put down his water bottle and turned to look at Stiles with boredom and disinterest that intimidated the hell out of Stiles. He didn't have to say a word to tell him that he didn't want to be talking to an underclassman.

"Right. You hate riding the bench too." Stiles said.

"Actually, no." Isaac said after a few quiet minutes. "I prefer it."

"Seriously?" Stiles squawked. "Why join the team then? This sport is all about wanting to get out there and kill the other team."

Isaac smirked and his eyebrows flicked up once thoughtfully.

"Yeah, well, my dad-" he stopped it at that. "I guess I just don't want to play anymore. Your friend sure enjoys it though."

He directed his gaze at the field. Scott suddenly pummeled Danny to the ground. Before Stiles knew what he was doing, he was running out onto the field where Scott was shaking off other players who were trying to peel him off of the goalie.

"Dude! What the hell?" Stiles exclaimed. Bewildered, he looked at Danny and then back. Scott had never started a fight. He'd never been in one in his entire life.

Scott yanked off his helmet and threw it to the ground. It clattered and bounced a couple feet away. His entire body shook. Stiles didn't know if it was from the lash-out or from the adrenaline of the anger flashing in his eyes and making his veins pulse.

"You hurt Danny!"

"So?" Scott snapped angrily.

Stiles took a step back from the hostility that came over him. He'd never gotten like that before.

"Everybody loves Danny. Now everybody will hate you." Stiles replied.

"I don't care." Scott walked off the field. Coach's whistle went off right in Stiles's ear and he stumbled backwards from the blaring noise, covering his ears.

"What's going on with him?" Coach demanded.

"I have no idea." Stiles said honestly, ringing his finger in his ear.

Coach grumbled and then turned back to Danny who was cradling a bloody nose. Stiles flung back his head in annoyance at seeing Jackson coming over to him. He was the last person Stiles wanted to talk to.

"You better tell McCall to watch his back." Jackson growled. His eyes bulged angrily in their sockets.

"Or you'll what?" Stiles countered. "Tell your mommy and daddy on him?"

Jackson had major rage issues, but he was all bark and no bite...usually. His money did the talking mostly. But that didn't stop Stiles from being surprised that those words came out of his mouth nor did it stop Jackson who didn't have a good reply. Brett was helping Danny stop his nose from bleeding. He must've heard Stiles's comment, because he looked up in their general direction and laughed subtly.

"Just tell him." Jackson said.

Stiles shook his head. What else was going to happen today, he wondered.

Looking back at the benches, Isaac was gone. Stiles spun around in a quick three-sixty. He was totally gone. Jackson, helping Brett lead Danny off the field, shoved past Stiles nearly making him face plant and get a mouthful of grass. Coach blew his whistle a few more times to get everyone back on the field.

Stiles took his spot back on the cold, steel bench. As he sat he noticed Erica up in the bleachers. She had her feet propped up on the seat in front of her and was leaning on her knees. She gave a small wave and smiled. Stiles wondered if she was here to support him or to protect him. Either one was a completely foreign feeling, but one he was beginning to like.

Scott was in the locker room shoving his gear into his locker forcefully. The top corner of the metal door was bent with strange holes in it, like it had ripped into, but nothing had that kind of power unless Scott was knocking around more things.

"What's with the roid rage?" Stiles joked as he sat down on a worn bench.

"Not right now, Stiles." Scott sighed.

"What's going on with you? You haven't been the same since that night in the woods. We haven't hung out in a while." Stiles said. "And, now you're on a rage warpath on the field? Are you-" Stiles moved his head side to side, weaseling into the question with as much ease as he could muster, "are you taking something? You can tell me if you are."

"WHAT!? No! God, Stiles!" Scott exclaimed.

"You've got people wondering including me." he replied. "So what _is_ going on then? You can tell me."

"Nothing is going on." Scott slammed the locker door shut. "I'm just stressed. I didn't mean to wipe Danny out. It just happened."

Stiles nodded stiffly.

"Right."

Scott was officially lying.

"Whenever you want to tell me the truth, let me know-"

"Scott!" came Allison's pitchy and scared voice. She came tumbling around the lockers. "Are you okay?"

Stiles scoffed. She looked between the two boys and shut her mouth quickly. Her eyes were wide with worry. Stiles wasn't clued in on whatever it was that had her up in a panic. This only made him mad. He could trust Allison with whatever it was, the new girl in school, but he could trust his best friend of nearly ten years?

"Let me know when you want to talk because apparently you can tell your new girlfriend, but you can't tell me." Every word was biting as iit came out.

With a look of dismay, Stiles got up and stormed off. Scott called after him, but he didn't stop. The way of high school drama was something that Stiles thought he could avoid.

Erica was waiting just outside the door when he came out of the locker room. Her olive green denim jacket was open, revealing the navy t-shirt and the sleeves rolled up. It was a nice color on her, Stiles decided. Her hair was in a loose braid on one shoulder.

"Everything alright?" she asked.

"Yeah," he breathed out.

The two stopped by his locker. Erica was going on about P.E., and he was only hearing about half of it. The argument with Scott still played over in his mind. They never fought. Sure, they argued over why Scott had never seen _Star Wars_. That should be a crime, but that was usually the extent of it.

He shook it off. Scott would come around. Stiles deeply believed so. He just had to wait, as hard as that was.

"I'm a jerk. I know. I'm sorry," called out Scott behind the pair. He came jogging up to them, his head hanging with guilt.

That was quick, Stiles thought. Erica watched Stiles who froze and was looking at a frumpy Scott who leaned back against the lockers beside them.

"I've been going through some stuff. It's nothing major, and I didn't mean to go off like that." His head was hanging so low that it might've fallen off and rolling across the hall. "Hey, Erica."

His head perked up and he looked at her and then Stiles with utter confusion.

"What?" Stiles asked.

"Are you two…" he pointed and move his finger between the two of them.

Were they together? Together-together? Stiles tensed and his heart leapt painfully. They were just friends. Or at least he thought they were friends.

"What? No. Nononononono." Stiles said quickly with an embarrassed laugh. "We've just uh, been hanging out, catching up since she returned."

Erica shifted awkwardly. Her ivory cheeks glowed pink at the insinuation.

"That's right. You moved away back in middle school." Scott said.

"Yeah. Moved to San Francisco. " Erica said. "But strangely, there's no place like home."

Scott nodded in agreement. The three of them made their way out to the parking lot. Erica waved goodbye to them and went to meet Brett at her car. He watched them from afar with a mischievous look.

"So she owns the Camaro?" Scott said, ruffling his hair with his hand. "Damn. And by the way, she likes you."

"Yeah, okay," Stiles said in a dumb tone as he tossed his book bag in the back seat.

"I'm serious. If you would peel your eyes off of Lydia, you'd see it too."

Stiles couldn't think about all of that right now even though he did want to argue it. He just wanted to get past Friday, and then maybe after, he'd contemplate it like the universe.

Stiles turned the ignition. The Jeep stuttered some before coming to life. He really needed to give it a good tune-up. They pulled out of the lot.

"So are you excited about the first game on Friday?" Scott asked.

That was a loaded question. In a way yes, and in a way no. It was the first game of the season. Scott would certainly dominate. And Brett would too if he was going to be there. How was he going to get out of the game? Coach didn't care if you were on your deathbed. You went to the game and you played, unless you were Stiles. Then you didn't play, but you moped and cheered on your teammates because you didn't get game-time.

Stiles just smiled as the turmoil in his head increased. He reminded himself to breathe: slow and steady, in and out. It was all he could do to avoid a panic attack of his own.

"You are probably more excited than me." Stiles smirked. "You do remember I live on the sidelines."

"I can't believe I'll actually be playing the game." Scott beamed.

"Neither can I." Stiles mumbled.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Coach?" Brett gulped. His eyes were glazed over and he was doubled over, his hands on his knees.

"No!" Coach groaned. "You have to play! I need you to play. NEED. Can you do that? The players will just pass to you and all you have to do is make the shot."

Stiles watched from afar and tried to stay hidden in the locker room as Brett talked to coach or tried to anyone. The freshman lurched forward and covered his mouth. The performance was a masterpiece. Stiles would've never gotten away with something like that. He lacked the collective technique to be convincing.

"I think I caught the flu." Brett said, trying not to breathe in.

"Damn it, Greenburg!" Coach shouted. He looked past Brett in search of the lacrosse player that was always in the path of coach's wrath. "He had the flu last week. I was hoping he'd keep it."

Brett forced up a burp and followed it up with a gurgle before hurrying off to the toilets. Coach's face twisted with disgust and he waved the burp away with his clipboard.

"Great," he exclaimed. "Lahey!"

The tall lanky kid flinched and turned his attention from his locker.

"You're on the field tonight!" Coach pointed at him with his clipboard with finality.

Isaac didn't have a chance to argue. There was no arguing with the wiry and slightly manic man, not even if you were dying. Brett was lucky that he ran away. Isaac's mouth hung open weakly and he let out a sigh of defeat. Stiles nodded, mostly to himself as it all unfolded.

When Brett put on an act he went all out. Stiles moved to his locker which hung half open. He was going to half to sneak off the bench tonight which wouldn't be very difficult.

"Hey, congrats," Stiles said to Isaac. "You didn't even have to try that hard to get off the bench. Teach me your ways sometime."

Stiles snorted at his own joke. Isaac just stared at him blankly. Stiles shrugged. His attempt at humor wasn't always for everyone. He was usually the only one who got it. Well, him and Scott.

"I'll trade you spots," Isaac offered.

"You kidding? Coach would flip and pull me off the field by my ears."

Isaac chuckled and nodded. Stiles wasn't wrong. Coach was senile about lacrosse. It was about the win and the kill.

The crowd was loud and uproarious as the team went out onto the field. Stiles received a text as he sat down on the bench. His dad was called to the hospital. The bus driver that had been attacked was awake. Stiles couldn't deny the disappointment he felt because his dad couldn't make it. It was only the first game and he wasn't doing any playing so it faded pretty quickly. Him not being here would also make it easier to get away.

Scott took the field by storm. Surprisingly, Jackson and him were good as a team. Even Isaac was doing pretty damn good for a guy who never wanted to play. He had a heavy tackle. He completely flipped a player over his shoulder at one point. Stiles jumped and cringed. About fifteen minutes in, plus two goals by their team, Stiles looked around at the crowd and the coach. He edged inch by inch down the bench. He'd already peeled off his gloves and set his helmet aside next to his lacrosse stick. Coach was so engrossed in the game that he didn't notice him stand up. Stiles did a small jig and still nothing. Thank god for a coach who thrived on the game and was ignorant of almost everything else. Stiles turned and ran for the parking lot.

Once at his Jeep he tossed his shoulder pads in the trunk and then got in and revved the engine to life. Brett had texted him with directions to the location of where the change was taking place-the old Hale property. He was already with Erica and Boyd. The moon would be up in an hour and a half.

The remnants of the Hale property were desolate. Stiles sat in the cool quietness of his vehicle for a few minutes before getting out. The place was creepy. The entire house had been burned down years ago and the family was gone; either dead or just disappeared. It was strange that three of them chose here to wolf out.

Stiles slowly ascended the steps to the front porch.

"Hello?" he called out uneasily.

This is stupid, he thought. This is some prank and they might murder me or something. Stiles turned to leave and then paused and turned back. The debate went on for several seconds. The wooden floor creaked under his feet in protest.

"Stiles?"

The voice was timid and belonged to Erica. Stiles searched the downstairs and found her in the what he imagined to be the dining room. A beam from the ceiling laid diagonally from the ceiling to the floor. Erica was putting old fashioned shackles around Brett's wrists. They were rusted and looked heavy. His feet were already clamped. Stiles avoided a collar and leash joke. Maybe later, when it wasn't a full moon and these guys might not be all wolfy, he would whip it out. No need to try and get himself killed.

"Uh, what's going on?" Stiles asked. He gulped hard and hoped that they didn't see how scared he was. It was hard to breathe as his heart beat painfully against his rib cage.

Erica pulled up Brett's wrists by the shackle chains to show him. They jingled, but stayed strong.

"We don't want to hurt anybody." She said it sullenly as if she knew what it was like to hurt another person.

Then Stiles wondered. Did they hurt those people? The campers? Bus driver? Were they responsible for all of it?

"Did-did you guys have anything to do with-"

"No!" Erica exclaimed, cutting him off quickly. Her face was horror stricken. "We didn't hurt those people."

"It wasn't us." Boyd agreed. Brett stayed quiet. "We swear. We do this so that we don't hurt people."

Stiles nodded at the desperation in his gravelly tone of wanting to badly to be believed. It was in his eyes too. Boyd sat on the floor with his arms hanging over his knees. His head leaned back against the wall.

"Are these," Stiles motioned at their ancient restraints, "going to keep you guys for getting loose?"

"They should protect you from us, yes."

"Protect me?" Stiles shook his head mystified as a wave of fury suddenly overcame him. Up until now, he didn't think about them hurting him. He just figured this would help them from getting caught be people. But they were uncontrollable...?"Protect me!? Don't you think it would've been a better idea that I not _be_ here if you might kill me?!"

None of them said a word for a while. Stiles took it upon himself to check Brett and Boyd's chains and then moved to Erica and helped get hers on. His hands shook as he worked the locks and clasps. He refused to put on the medieval torture crown. No way was he drilling into her head with rusty bolts. Just hell no. That was taking it too far.

"So, uh, what's it like when it happens?" Stiles itched his ear awkwardly.

"Hurts," Brett said. His jaw was tense and he looked really scared as he stared at the floor.

"You don't have any control." Boyd added. "There's an overwhelming amount of emotion that you can't control, and it's mostly rage. When I change I can usually remember about half of the night, but it's fuzzy."

"Can't you focus on something to slow it down or something? There has to be a way to lessen it."

"An anchor. That's what you're talking about. It 's rare and is mostly theoretical bullshit." Brett said bitterly.

"Have you ever tried...it?" The question was stupid since he still wasn't sure what Brett meant.

No one said anything. Stiles took that as a no. Even less answers and more questions. This sucked and made Stiles's head ache. He rubbed his temples.

"Try it, the focusing-anchor thing. Think about something so strong it helps you regain control. A memory maybe. Or a person."

Stiles rubbed his chin and up his cheek as the gears turned over and over, in his head thinking about this anchor idea. It couldn't be much more far-fetched than werewolves being real.

A groan erupted from Brett and this wasn't acting like before. He doubled over sideways, holding his stomach. His face crumpled in pain.

"Brett?"

Brett's body contorted and a growl ripped up the length of his both and out. The intensity of it made Stiles shake. Brett slapped his hand against the floor.

"Maybe I should-" Stiles pointed over his shoulder with multiple fingers and even spun around in a circle, motioning that maybe he should leave.

"No!" Erica exclaimed with a throaty roar. "Please. We don't have anybody."

Stiles looked at each of them helplessly. Brett's fingernails had hardened into claws and dug into the floor. There were other long claw marks besides the brand new ones he was creating. Stiles wondered, how many moons these guys had been changing into these creatures?

His chest heaved heavy lungfuls of air. Erica hugged her back to the wall with her head tilted up. Each of their eyes glowed golden yellow. Her teeth sharpened and canines pushed from her gums.

"Erica," Stiles breathed.

Boyd released a house shaking roar, showing a mouth full of sharp teeth. Stiles leaped back and almost fell through the hole in the wall behind him. The three of them wrangled in their shackles. Stiles shook his head, unable to watch the rest of the shift. It was too painful, and he wasn't even one of them. He left the room and sat at the bottom of the stairs. It creaked underneath his weight.

The animalistic sounds of distress increased. They wanted to be free. They were fighting against the chains. Freedom was not a choice at the moment. Stiles tried to steady his shakiness, but nothing was working. No thought could penetrate the fear that were the beads of sweat that formed over his forehead and temples. They're going to kill me, he thought.

A thunderous crash came from the other room, and Stiles jumped to his feet. The sound of something scraping heavily across the floor drew closer and closer. Each panic induced breath Stiles took in was short and his nostrils flared. Brett slunk into the doorway. His nostrils filled with Stiles's scent and he bared his teeth.

"Oh crap," Stiles gulped. "Hey buddy, you look like shit." Not a lie. Werewolves were really fugly. "How about I help you out, huh? We'll just fix up those bonds a little."

Brett let out a roar in response, clearly not wanting that. Stiles's head nodded to the side with a slight frown.

"I'll take that as a no."

Brett charged and fast, but Stiles ducked just in time. Brett tumbled over him, falling on his face and got up in a crouching position. Stiles dashed into the living room. Brett was on his heels instantly. Stiles moved behind the couch, putting it between the two of them.

"Snap out of it, Brett! You have to control yourself. You don't want to kill me, or maybe you do. I don't know, but I'm hoping you won't." Stiles stammered. He stumbled backwards, tripping on the corner of a charcoled chair.

Brett's ears twitched and a dribble of drool ran down his chin. His jersey was shredded from his claws. He must've ripped through it while trying to get free. Stiles gulped. The two of them moved around the couch, Brett trying to get to him and Stiles trying to keep the scorched piece of furniture between them.

Brett tossed it aside with one hand and it smashed against the wall, breaking to pieces. Stiles's hand flew up over his face as debris flew. Brett stalked toward him a couples steps, the look in his eyes completely predatory.

"Dude, I'm not worth ripping apart. Ask anybody. I don't have a lot of meat on me-it's actually something I've been working on," Stiles said. He glanced around the room for anything that could be used as a weapon.

Brett ran at him, throwing him against the wall before he could run. The force of the attack knocked the air right of out his lungs. Stiles cried out at feeling Brett's claws sink into his arm and side. No amount of wriggling broke him free. All he could do was yell as Brett shredded him apart. He squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to watch.

The getting-ripped-apart didn't happen. Brett was pulled backwards and sliding across the floor. Breathing hard, Stiles looked up from where he now sat on the floor. Erica looked down at him. She bore the same predatory look as Brett, but didn't attack him. She knelt down and reached out cautiously like she was afraid that he'd run away. He see it in her eyes. She was in there, and she wanted to help.

"I'm okay," Stiles said, nodding his head really fast. Nothing about this was okay, but reassuring her so that she didn't kill him seemed like his best bet. "Really. I'm alive. I'm okay."

Brett howled behind them and jumped up and bent at the knees so that he was crouching like a lion ready to pounce a gazelle. Right as he moved to lunge Boyd stepped in, putting a hand on his chest and thrust him back against the wall. Brett let out a disgruntled growl and Boyd replied with one twice as ferocious, making him whimper.

Stiles looked back at Erica. Her face had shifted again. The swollen wolf features had lessened and the animal that she was was suppressed only a little. she still looked incredibly dangerous.

"Are you okay?" She was out of breath. "Brett has a harder time with control. He was born a werewolf. He's lucky his sister wasn't."

Stiles didn't say anything. He couldn't stop staring at her. He could see the wolf and he could see her. Werewolves were nothing like he'd imagined. They had fur but it wasn't everywhere like in the movies. There were tufts on her hands, moving up her arms and some accented her face as it grew out along her jaw. They didn't shift into full-fledged animals. Maybe that was a hybrid thing.

"Stiles?" Erica said. He caught the falter in her voice.

"I'm okay," he replied. "It's just…a lot to take in. I have so many questions."

Erica looked over her shoulder at Brett. He'd calmed down. Boyd still didn't let him go. He gave Erica a nod.

Stiles regained his composure and slid away from Erica. Being too close to them while they were unchained was too risky.

"So," he swallowed hard. "You guys found a way to gain control-your anchor. That's-that's a good thing."

All three of them stared at Stiles. The gazes were between dumbfounded and bland and still a bit of rage.

"Can you help lock us back up," Erica asked. She looked away from him. Her head hung in shame. "Brett first."

"Ummm," he paced a couple steps. "Fine, but no biting or scratching. Got it?"

He pointed at each of them. Before any of them could answer Stiles's phone rang. He jumped and scrambled to get it out of his pocket. Erica stalked closer and Stiles could see the other part of her, the wolf, creeping back to the surface. His dad was calling.

"Hey, Dad," Stiles sang while rocking on his heels.

"Where the hell are you!? Do you know I'm about to send a search party out for you. The game ended an hour ago and I can't get a hold of Scott. Coach had no idea where you went!" Stiles held the phone away from his ear as his dad continued the rant. This sounded like a grounding in the making.

"Did Coach check the bathroom? Because that's where I went. Large case of bowel issues. Real bad. Coming out of both ends," Stiles said,

Boyd looked back at him, his nose wrinkling with disgust. Stiles kept on. His dad didn't speak for several seconds and Stiles wondered if he hung up.

"Hello?"

"Where are you now?"

Stiles heard the heavy sigh. It was his signature sound of stress that was induced because of Stiles.

"I'm hanging out with Erica. She's helping me with an assignment."

"Erica? Erica Reyes?" His dad asked with disbelief.

"Yes. Can I go now?"

Another sigh.

"Yeah. Just be home at a decent hour."

"Now, when you say decent-"

"Midnight, Stiles. One at the latest." The reply was filled with full parental command.

"Okay."

They hung up. Stiles put his phone back in his pocket and hurried to help get Brett back to the dining room. The shakiness that had overcome Stiles was gone now. Now, he was determined to help them. Nobody else was doing it.

Boyd and Erica kept Brett from getting free as Stiles helped restrain him. He moved on to Boyd who didn't look at him once. He kept his focus on the chains. Erica didn't quit staring at him.

"You're a good friend," she said. "Can we call you that?"

"What?" A split second bit of confusion hit him and then he understood. "Yeah. We're friends."

"You can't tell anyone about this."

"Nobody would believe me." Stiles said. He gave a shaky, lopsided smile. "No worries."

He rattled her wrist chains, checking their durability. The full moon wandered across the night sky slowly. Its brilliant pale light filtered through the foggy and broken windows. It went down behind the trees around three in the morning.

Erica brought her own car so she and the guys went home. Stiles made it home by four o'clock. Case files were scattered across the kitchen table per usual and there was an empty glass. It smelled like whiskey.. He was too tired to look at the files. He went straight upstairs and fell asleep the moment he fell onto his bed.

The events of the lacrosse game were all over the school. Scott didn't want to talk about it at all. He kept his head down as they walked the halls. Allison tried to catch his eyes as they went past her and Lydia to their lockers, but wasn't successful.

"What's going on with you?" Stiles asked.

Scott sighed, obviously not wanting to give up that information.

"If you had been at the game last night you would've seen." It came out harsh and bitter.

"What? We lost?"

"No." That was all Scott said.

He sulked off. His shoulders slackened even more.

"You missed your friend's spazzy exit last night," Jackson said, ramming his shoulder into Stiles's as he passed by. "It was hilarious. He fell on his face and ran off from the humiliation, leaving me to salvage the game."

Stiles rolled his eyes. Of course Jackson would overreact. He was overreacting, right? He had to be. Scott had more than proven that he was one of the top players. He wouldn't leave during his first chance to show off his skills. Danny looked back at him and offered a sympathetic smile. Jackson was still prattling on about it.

Allison paused nearby and waited until Lydia, Jackson and Danny were out of earshot.

"He had a panic attack and was sick," she explained timidly. "He's…embarrassed."

She left Stiles there and went to catch up with Lydia.

"She's lying."

Stiles jolted. Boyd stared down at him amused. They have to quit that, Stiles thought, they're going to give me a heart attack. Stiles's eye narrowed. How did he know she was lying?

"Her heart skipped when she said 'embarrassed'." Boyd said. "Just thought you should know."

Boyd waited for a second more and then gave a short nod and walked off.

Allison was lying, covering for Scott. That's strange. The gears in his head spun and grinded, and he could feel a headache coming on. Maybe what came over Scott was worse than what she said and she was just being courteous, but that was stupid. It wasn't that and Stiles knew it. Scott would've divulged that kind of hilarity. There was something else, and he was going to figure it out.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Stiles drove up to the animal clinic. For a while, he just sat there in the parking lot and stared at the building. He'd been sitting around a lot lately just contemplating his next move. He had to do that now because people depended on him to not open his big mouth.

His lips pursed together as his thoughts moved to his best friend, Scott. The strange distance that crept between them had dissolved and they were back to their usual selves. The selves that were engrossed in lacrosse and high school. Scott had gushed about the game and how he'd helped Danny score a goal, which put him back in his good graces. Scott never mentioned Stiles's absence. He was living too in the moment of his new popularity.

Stiles swung his keys around his finger and caught them in his palm and then got out of the Jeep. Scott wouldn't be in for a couple more hours. He had the night shift tonight, and keeping track of his shifts felt weird and shifty, but Stiles didn't have much of a choice. He couldn't tell Scott anything yet. He was definitely going to talk to Erica about doing so at some point. He couldn't keep this hiding this. He and Scott didn't do secrets well.

The bell above the door jingled lightly as he walked into the clinic. Deaton was finishing up with a customer, a woman with a Pomeranian, walking them to the front. Stiles stepped out of the way.

"Just make sure that Ginkgo takes two a day, and I will see him in three weeks," Deaton said with his kindest smile as he handed her a small bottle. He glanced at Stiles. Stiles could only guess that it was surprise there in his eyes since he was used to seeing Stiles tag along with Scott. Stiles felt even more awkward.

How kind and caring his nature was deeply disturbed Stiles, especially since he now knew that he knew about _everything_. Erica had confessed that Deaton was the one who gave her the full encouragement to show her werewolf side because he was no longer what werewolves called an emissary. Thinking about the conversation all over again made the back of Stiles head start to throb with a headache. Simplified, Erica told him to talk to Deaton and that he would explain everything much better.

Stiles sighed stress-fully. He envied Erica and the others. They had each other to rely on and talk to about all of this stuff. He didn't. Not really. Sure, they were his friends, but only just. He'd gone to school with Boyd and Erica since elementary and then there was the newbie, Brett. But there wasn't the years long friendship where you knew each so well that there was perfect synchronicity.

Maybe it was just high school. They were the worst years of your life after all.

"Stiles," Deaton smiled. "I wondered when you would be dropping by."

He opened small swing door and directed Stiles to the back. Slowly and cautiously, walked past him.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions."

"Just one, really," Stiles said. His head nodded to the side as he thought of a way to word it. The question was simple, but loaded. Just spit it out, he thought. "Emissary. What it is that?"

He followed Deaton as he walked back to the kennel. Deaton opened one of the top cages and pulled out a Beagle puppy and handed it to Stiles. Stiles stared down at the animal and then back at the vet. Puppy therapy? Really? This subject called for this? Stiles scratched the needy pup behind the ear.

"An Emissary is a guide," Deaton started, "a person that a pack relies on for help. Normally, they help the pack when in need, and usually an emissary is derived from a druid bloodline." Deaton explained completely calm, like this was a normal everyday conversation. Stiles however, was freaking out. On the inside anyway. His heart raced, pounding hard against his ribs just like when Erica shifted in front of him. Druids? No way. This is getting all kinds of stupid, Stiles thought.

That didn't come out of his mouth though. He somehow, magically, managed to stay calm. It was the puppy therapy.

"And druids are real too…" Stiles mumbled.

"You would be surprised about what is real." Deaton chuckled.

Stiles didn't chuckle. It just wasn't as funny to him as it was to Deaton. There was a werewolf out there that was killing people. His mind suddenly spun and pulled and twisted. And, there was more besides werewolves and druids out there?

"Don't worry, Stiles." Deaton put a hand on his shoulder that was meant to be comforting.

"Worry? I'm not worried." Stiles's voice faltered. "Concerned that I may get ripped apart at some point, maybe. But my head is spinning. Go back. Guiding a pack. Can't you guide Erica's pack? Why me?"

"A pack has the ability to choose their emissary, somebody they trust with their lives. A person they _tie_ their lives to in a way. They believe that's you."

The Beagle in Stiles's arms wriggled and whined, reminding him that it was still there. Stiles dodged licks to the chin as its tail smacked his arm repeatedly excitedly.

"But I know nothing!" Stiles exclaimed. "And, I'm not some druid-Jedi master. Those are those people who made Stonehenge and did sacrifices and prayed to earth."

Deaton chuckled some more.

"Something like that, though I don't believe it was us who built Stonehenge. I personally think it was aliens."

Stiles caught the humor and smirked. A small bit of relief spread over him like a warm blanket, but he still didn't feel okay with all of this.

"I'm retired," Deaton said as he checked food bowls. "The family that came to me has passed on. I can help you. I'm always here to pass on whatever knowledge that is helpful." The apology in his eyes told Stiles that that was all he could do.

Stiles was comforted by that. With all of this new information he thought he'd feel satisfied. But he wasn't in the slightest. This was just the beginning to something so much bigger and it was exciting while at the same time completely terrifying. Right now, Stiles was leaning more toward the terrifying side.

"Anchors." He said randomly right then. Erica had made mention of them, but Stiles didn't get very much information about it. The Beagle whined for more attention. Deaton's eyes snapped quickly to the teenager who was making kissy faces at the puppy.

"Anchors? What do you know about anchors?"

The surprise in Deaton's voice surprised Stiles. He looked up, making eye contact with the vet; the uncomfortable kind.

"Uh, nothing. I know exactly nothing. I just know what Erica tells me and that isn't much." Stiles set the puppy down. It sat at his feet and stared up at him expectantly. Its tongue lolled out the side of its mouth. "Something like...anchors are what keep werewolves tied to their humanity?"

Stiles was reaching for an explanation, but in the end just sighed.

"Look," he scratched the back of his head. "I'm in tenth grade."

He laughed. Wow, I'm a loser, he thought.

"All of this-" he waved his waved his hands up in the air, "is _way_ above my pay-grade. I'm just a kid and these other kids who are my age just dragged me into it. I don't know anything and Erica…"

He trailed off, defeated, and finally said,

"I'm just a kid. What can I do?"

Deaton nodded and smiled warmly. Stiles didn't understand.

Stiles had no idea what he was doing. That was a bad thing.

"They trust you, Stiles," Deaton told him.

"Then why aren't they telling me all of this…stuff?"

"Because you have to trust them. They probably want to be sure that you're in this with them. They chose you because they sense loyalty and courage. You need to prove them right."

Stiles, pinching his bottom lip, took a moment to dwell on the words. His head throbbed like he'd been smacked upside the head with a sledge hammer. This was all intense and hard to digest, but at the same time it was exciting. His life certainly wouldn't be boring anymore.

"Take some time, Stiles. This isn't meant to be taken lightly." Deaton knelt down and gave the Beagle some love, rubbing and scratching behind the ears. "And, believe me, you're aren't just some kid. Some kid wouldn't be going to a desolate, scorched house to watch over three werewolves on a full moon. Some kid would actually get eaten if he did."

Stiles scoffed silently. Well, I didn't get eaten, he thought, remembering back to the full moon. But almost got filleted.

* * *

Stiles pulled up to the house. The space where his dad's police SUV usually parked was vacant and the house was dark. Dad wasn't home yet. That was fine. Stiles had a lot of homework to get to, not including what he received from school. As he made his way up the front steps the hairs on the back of his neck rose and he had the strong feeling, like he was being watched. From the porch, he looked over his shoulder slowly.

There was nothing out there. Just houses that were lit up in the twilight evening, Porch lights were turning on and street lights flickered as the remaining golden sun trickled through the trees and clouds. Autumn really was here. You wouldn't guess it from the temperatures outside.

Stiles went inside. He didn't see the red eyes that focused on him from the alley a couple houses down, glowing brighter with fury. A low growl followed after the door shut behind Stiles.

Stiles sent his dad a text to let him know that he was home and reminded him that he shouldn't eat a lot of fast food. Cholesterol and all. It worried Stiles that his dad ate fast food twenty-four-seven. A heart attack striking was something that Stiles wouldn't be able to handle. His job as the Sheriff was dangerous enough.

Brett was sitting in his chair when he got upstairs to his room and was spinning around in slow circles. Boyd was sitting on the bed, rifling through one of his comic books. Stiles took in a breath, confused at the sight before him.

Hey," Brett said lamely.

Boyd looked up and gave a nod. Stiles always found it strange that he was so quiet. Adds to the intimidation factor, Stiles guessed.

"So you guys just drop by..." Stiles said shaking his head, thinking up more words to break the awkwardness.

"We were bored and thought, hey! Why not go see if Stiles wants to hang out?" Brett said enthusiastically.

"Really?" Stiles said. He almost smiled, but resisted and it was a good thing too.

"No." Brett's shoulder's sagged and the boredom returned to his face.

Stiles gave him a _you-suck_ glare and set his bookbag by the door and it landed with a heavy thump.

"Why are you guys here then?"

"Wanted to make sure you were alright," Boyd said.

He set the comic book aside and look up at Stiles. His expression was unreadable.

"I haven't said anything." Stiles said

"We know." Brett said. He tapped his earlobe with his finger before Stiles could ask. "Good hearing."

Stiles nodded slowly and said the next thing to come to mind.

"Well, uh," he scratched the side of his forehead, "are you guys hungry?"

Brett and Boyd shared a look. Stiles rocked on his heels. Breaking through to these guys was difficult. But nothing beat pizza as an ice breaker. Well, maybe video games and he had those too.

"I can eat," Brett said. His eyebrows rose. Boyd nodded reluctantly.

Progress. It's all a working progress, Stiles thought, like all things. And, this was when he wanted to begin. He was making his choice. It gave him a thrilling jolt even though this was a life-threatening and terrifying choice, but still. And, Stiles couldn't be open about this, like Scott was being the new star lacrosse player, but this was was his-for lack of a better way to put it-adventure. He wanted to be a part of this. He could see the lost looks on their faces in the dim lighting of his desk lamp. They were struggling to find solid ground. He remembered Erica saying they'd lost their pack leader. He couldn't imagine what that was like.

No, not true. He imagined that it was a lot like losing a parent.

Stiles scratched his jaw. This silence was deafening.

"How about video games?" he said.

"What games do you have?" Brett asked, his curiosity definitely piqued. He sat forward and grinned.

Stiles grinned back. Progress indeed. Even Boyd was curious. He took his seat back on the bed as Stiles turned on the T.V.

* * *

The Sheriff's SUV pulled up to the house. All was dark except for the pale pulsing light coming from Stiles's window that, for some reason, reminded him of _Poltergeist_. Crossing the threshold, he felt the large weight of work's problems instantly lifted from his shoulders. It was good to be home. He closed his eyes, enjoying the quiet of the house.

"No!"

The Sheriff's eyes shot open and he pulled his gun from the holster on his belt. He ascended the stairs quickly and stealthily. More strained shouting ensued. It was Stiles. Sheriff Stilinksi's heart pounded against his chest painfully. He felt both angry that an intruder was in his house, hurting his son and scared that somebody was hurting his son.

The Sheriff stopped outside of Stiles's bedroom with arms tensed and his gun up and ready to aim and shoot.

"Aggghhh! No!"

He kicked in the bedroom door nearly knocking it off its hinges and pointed his pistol across the room.

"Hey, Dad," Stiles said in a monotone voice.

The Sheriff's hands lowered a couple inches, but his grip around the handle of the gun didn't loosen. He stared bewildered at three boys, one of which was passed out on Stiles's bed. Three pizza boxes were scattered across the floor. This sight was strange, and the Sheriff didn't know how to handle it. He had friends? He realized the thought was instantly ridiculous. Of course Stiles had friends. These ones were new however.

"Get any news about the campers?"

"That case was closed Stiles. Animal attack." Sheriff Stilinski replied scornfully.

Stiles didn't look up from the T.V.

"Did you finish your homework?"

"Yeah," Stiles replied as he yanked the game controller in his hands to the side. He growled under his breath.

"Good." Sheriff gave them one more once over and then lowered his weapon. Stiles and Scott had been inseparable for years. Where was the kid? His eyes narrowed on him and the curly blonde kid next to him. He was glad that his son was reaching out beyond his usual group of two, but was surprised that Scott wasn't here, too.

"Where's Scott?"

"Home?" Stiles guessed with a snort. His eyebrows scrunched together at the ridiculous question. "I'm not his keeper."

"Oh." The Sheriff backed out of the room, not that any of them noticed. Boyd let out a soft snore.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Three boys came tumbling down the stairs like a stampede of elephants. They bustled for the front door, not acknowledging the accidental sleepover at all. The sound dissolved the Sheriff's nice and quiet morning. Stiles flung open the front door when they were all stopped by the highest authorities-a cop and a parent- all mixed into one person.

"Stop."

The simple word stopped them all in mid hustle. Stiles gulped and spun around, peering past Brett and Boyd. Both of whom were grimacing. like they'd just gotten caught stealing the Christmas ham This was the moment where Stiles needed to pull some magical excuse out of his ass. Lacrosse. It wasn't magical, but it was plausible, believable, yeah he wouldn't question it. Stiles opened his mouth.

"Come. Sit. Eat." Stiles didn't get a word out.

He shared looks with Brett and Boyd. Food? Who could say no? Stiles smiled briefly and nodded. The three of them sat at the table. The Mr. Stilinski didn't look up from the newspaper.

"Did you get your homework done?" he asked.

"Yeah." Stiles replied. He and the other two were passing plates around. Secretly to himself, he enjoyed this—spending time with his dad. They didn't have a lot of time to have that with him being the Sheriff and Stiles being at school or practice.

Mr. Stilinski looked up over his paper at them as if still expecting answers. Stiles looked at Brett and Boyd, clicking his tongue off the roof of his mouth. Boyd was basically vacuuming in his breakfast stopped and looked up through is eyelashes. His cheeks, resembling chipmunks, were full with scrambled eggs. Brett swallowed back pancakes, wincing as it nearly got lodged in his throat.

"Yeah," both boys said simultaneously.

Mr. Stilinski gave a small nod and went back to reading the newspaper.

Brett flicked his eyebrows up once in a- _so what?-_ manner and kept eating. They ate in silence for the rest of the morning before leaving for school. There wasn't even any talking during the drive. As soon as Stiles turned off the ignition, they all got out. Stiles didn't like to make a scene of things that were out of the ordinary like Jackson did. He didn't like to question these things like Scott did. He let them happen, let them go because maybe it was supposed be like this. How else did he explain the many things that had happened in his life?

"See you later," Brett said. Boyd gave a short wave and they dispersed towards the school.

"What was that?" Scott said coming up to him.

"What?" Stiles asked, shaking his head.

"You're hanging out with Brett and Boyd now?"

Stiles shrugged nonchalantly. What was the big deal? He was off with Allison all the time. Stiles wasn't just going to twiddle his thumbs and sit by, waiting to hang out with him. Nope. Brett and Boyd and even Erica were pretty cool to hang out with actually. Granted, there was the whole Emissary thing and anchor thing and werewolf thing and….there were a lot of things, but nonetheless they were his friends too.

"You're off with Allison half the time and though I don't mind being a third wheel…I mind being the third wheel." Stiles said.

Scott chuckled.

"We'll hang out today, after practice." Scott assured him with a pat on the back.

"Actually, I can't today." Stiles said, hesitating for a split second."I have a thing. Dad has been on me."

The lie came out so easily and he didn't blink. Scott's eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed, but Stiles didn't notice. He was staring across the parking lot at Erica as she pulled her bookbag from the backseat of her car.

"What thing?" Scott asked.

"It's really not important. He wants more Son/Dad time." Stiles shook his head.

Scott half nodded slowly, enough that Stiles knew Scott wasn't believing him. Stiles kept on with it. Everybody had secrets. Scott wasn't divulging his. Stiles had obligation to do the same.

"O-kay," Scott replied.

The subject changed quickly. Rumors were going around school about Isaac. He didn't show up to school. The days he didn't make an appearance or the days that he appeared sporting black and blue earned him the occasional crack about his home life. It sucked that he got not only the brunt at home, but at school, too.

Coach ragged on his absence during practice. Scott was on the field. He and Jackson were going at it again. Stiles was too distracted to pay much attention today. A few times, Coach snapped at him to pay attention if he ever expected to get any playing time. Stiles wasn't expecting any time on the field, not when Brett, Scott and Jackson had the winning season already within grasp.

Scott tackled Jackson to the ground and Coach blew his whistle.

"What are you doing!?" he exclaimed. The veins of his forehead bulged furiously. He threw his hands up and threw his clipboard. It lodged into the damp ground just a foot away from Stiles.

"Uh, Coach?" Stiles mumbled. Coach's fit went on for five more minutes. "Yeah, never mind."

Coach plucked the clipboard up angrily and slapped the damp dirt that clung to it. Stiles shook his head. At least Practice was never boring. Scott and Jackson froze mid-brawl and stared half terrified and half burning up—their faces beet red as they huffed short, exhausted breaths.

"Enough! We are a team! Start acting like it!" Coach shouted.

Jackson gave Scott one last shove in the shoulder before getting back into formation.

"I really hate him," Scott growled as he pulled his shirt over his head.

Stiles's nose crinkled as he inhaled. Stale shoes, mildewy sweat and chlorine. Disgusting and strangely satisfying.

"Yeah, I'm with you there. The guy is a serious douchebag, but what are you going to do?"

"I know what I want to do…" Scott trailed off. His jaw clenched angrily. Stiles didn't catch the incoherent words that followed, but figured that they went along the lines of some form of murder. He could go along with that. There was something in it for him of course. Lydia would need a shoulder to cry on. Then she might need a rebound. Stiles succumbed to the twisted daydream of a screwed up ever after.

"I'll see you after work." Scott said. Stiles didn't break from his spacey daze. "Hello?"

Scott waved his hand in front of his face and when that didn't work he slapped him upside the head, eliciting expletives after the loud slap that clapped over part of his ear. Scott laughed, and the two left the locker room.

Stiles got his payback by shoving him into the lockers right as Allison came to greet them and started rough housing. Allison jumped back, dodging a hit meant for Stiles. A chilling ringtone reminiscent of those dark, foggy, creepy nights played and Stiles pulled out his phone right as Scott hit him in the side.

"Hello?" Stiles grunted.

Allison snagged Scott in a hug before he could get in another playful hit. Stiles thanked her in his head for the save. That last one literally knocked the wind out of him. Scott needed to figure out his strength because he obviously didn't have control over it. He walked a couple feet ahead, getting away from the kissing session that Scott was getting himself into.

"Stiles?" The tone in his dad's voice was full of sharp concern. "Can you get to the hospital?"

"Why?" Stiles's heart raced in his chest now. The last time his dad asked form him to get to the hospital...well, it wasn't good.

Scott turned to look at him suddenly and peeled away from Allison. Both teens now shared the same look that matched the Sheriff's tone. Worry.

"There was another attack last night. This time the thing-animal-whatever it is, it left his victim alive." Stiles shifted from foot to foot. "He's asking for you."

"Who is it?"

"Isaac Lahey."

"I'm on my way." Stiles hung up.

"What's up?" Scott asked as the three of them made their way out to the parking lot.

"My Dad says there was another attack. He wants to see me. I'll catch you later?"

Stiles was already rushing to his jeep before Scott replied. Allison frowned and shrugged from the strange look Scott gave her—his eyebrows scrunched together and his mouth pulled to one side in confusion.

"I can come with-"

"He probably just wants my a-mazing expertise," Stiles said, hanging out the driver's window for a second.

Scott smirked with a quiet chuckle and shook his head.

Stiles drove off and as he got further away he felt his chest release tight tension more and more. Hiding things from Scott was getting more difficult.

Stiles hurried into the Emergency room upon arriving at the hospital. Melissa McCall, Scott's mom-the most amazing woman in the world of whom he even thought of as a second mom sometimes, came from around the front desk.

"What did you do?" she asked automatically, planting her fists on her hips. Her eyebrow cocked with that shame-giving look. "I imagine my son is with you and going to come stumbling in bleeding or something."

What makes you think I did something?" Stiles exclaimed. His voice was pitchy with offense and he was utterly appalled by the usually accurate accusation. But today he and Scott hadn't come with gaping wounds of the teenage variety.

Melissa gave him a crooked look.

"My dad called."

"Stiles."

The Sheriff was down the hall waving his hand for him to follow. Stiles flashed Melissa his cutest smile and rushed past her. He could her mumble low.

"That boy…"

Stiles and his dad walked along the blue line on the floor, passing rooms, some with the TV playing loudly, some with visitors and some that didn't have any patients at all. They stopped at room 214.

"Crap," his dad exclaimed in a low growl.

The TV was on with _Looney Tunes_ but the hospital bed was empty. The food on the mobile tray was untouched, which was good. Hospital food was not as good as people made it out to be. The Sheriff tilted his head to the walkie on his shoulder and pressed the buttons, speaking.

"Keep a look out for Isaac Lahey. 6'2''. Light brown hair, curly and pale features. He is wounded so be careful when picking him up. He is not a suspect. I repeat, _not_ a suspect."

The walkie crackled with responses. The Sheriff sighed and rubbed his forehead.

"I guess I'll go?" Stiles asked. His eyebrows rose and he rocked on his heels.

"Yeah. I'll see you at home." The Sheriff frowned.

Stiles patted him on the shoulder comfortingly and left. As soon as he was out of vicinity, he sped walked out of the hospital and back to his car. His tires screeched as he pulled out of the lot and on to the road. His fingers tapped on the steering wheel as he tried to think of places that Isaac might be hiding in. The only place really coming to mind was the cemetery since he worked for his dad there who was the caretaker.

A shadowy form shot up slowly from the back. Stiles glanced up in the rear-view mirror and swerved. The figure dropped back down and groaned.

"You suck at driving."

The drowsy tone. He knew that bored-I don't care-voice.

"Isaac?" Stiles looked back over his shoulder. "What are you doing in my car!? You're supposed to be in the hospital all wounded and unable to move."

"Bigger problem." Isaac climbed over the leather seat with complete ease, not wincing or groaning once, to take the passenger seat. He wasn't acting like he was inured at all.

"You are not injured…." Stiles said. He glanced over at him. He looked completely fine. No scrapes or stitched up

"Exactly. And, there's something else. Something worse."

Stiles looked at him and then at the road and then back. Isaac's frail eyes glowed a vibrantly gold like lamplight almost and his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped, scared.

"Oh crap," Stiles uttered through his teeth.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

So Isaac was a werewolf. And, for some reason he was coming to Stiles just like the others did, and the two of them were in his Jeep sitting in the police station parking lot.

"We can't go in there," Stiles said blandly while biting his nail, though there wasn't any nail left so he was actually biting at skin.

"Why are we here again."

"Morals. I have morals." Stiles said.

"Morals…" Isaac looked over at him with narrowed eyes. "That's what you're worried about?"

"Yeah, you're right." Stiles pulled out of the parking lot and went straight home.

Isaac started down the sidewalk in the direction of his house ass soon as they got out of the Jeep. His head was hunkered down as he stared at his feet.

"Hey! Where are you going?" Stiles called after him.

Isaac stopped and turned. Bearing a blank look of confusion, he pointed over his shoulder.

"Home."

"Dude, no way." Stiles said. "We have a guest room. It's yours for as long as it takes your dad to cool off."

Isaac just stared at him clearly unsure if he heard him right. The lack of expression on his face had Stiles looking anywhere but at him. He didn't even think before offering, but that was okay. It shouldn't have taken so long to give him a place to go with the way his Dad was.

"It's not a big deal. C'mon. I'm going to order pizza." Stiles went up the porch steps and into the house. The screen door clacked shut and then again with Isaac's entry. For nearly twenty minutes he just stood there at the door, like he was a coat rack. He was tall enough.

"Relax." Stiles said.

"I ran away from the hospital and your dad is going to discover me here."

Another obvious statement, though he made a point. Stiles was going to need a really good explanation-Isaac showed up on the doorstep like a stray? Stiles let out a single, soft chuckle at his own inside joke. Isaac didn't notice.

By the time the Sheriff did get home, leftover pizza cartons were on the kitchen table and there were two boys on the couch debating sides in regards to whatever show was on the TV.

"Damon's better. He's obviously stronger."

"No way. Being able to not rip out the throats of people."

"He eats squirrels."

"And Damon is a vicious killer just because he can!"

The TV clicked off, shrouding the entire living room in black. The boys' heads turned to the Sheriff who was holding the remote. He stared down at the two as if looking for an answer. His jaw was tense and his tongue pressed against his cheek scoldingly. He pointed at Isaac.

"How long has he been here?" His tone was calm, but stern—a bad sign.

Stiles scratched his temple for a good second. His jaw dangled open as he tried form words.

"A couple of minutes…that come out to about four hours," he replied, his words wavering with pauses.

"Four hours!? My officers have been looking for him everywhere! His father is in an uproar!" The Sheriff shouted. His hand was pointed at his son like he was ready to karate chop him.

"I figured it was better that he come here. You said he wanted to talk to me and you were right!" Stiles defended. His voice squeaked here and there. He got up and led his dad a couple feet away. Isaac looked around the room awkwardly. Stiles knew without a doubt he was going to hear this, but he was trying to be nice which didn't happen often. "You know the rumors about his dad. Did you really want him to go back there?"

His dad's face relaxed.

"You could've taken him back to the hospital."

"I discovered that like me, he doesn't like hospitals."

The glare was back. The Sheriff looked back at Isaac and then back at him.

"I have to question him about his attacker."

"Can you ask him tomorrow?" Stiles's eye brows rose with each word. "I kind of already told him that he could stay here.'

The Sheriff sighed tiredly.

"Fine."

Score.

Stiles looked back at Isaac and nodded at the stairs.

"Isaac?" The Sheriff stopped him on the stairs. "We are going to talk."

"Yes, sir," Isaac responded in a mumble.

Upstairs, Isaac stood in the doorway of Stiles's room.

"So, uh, what do I tell him tomorrow?" he asked.

Having a senior ask a sophomore for help was leaving him with a feeling of aw. The two never even talked before this year. Stiles didn't let his excitement show. That'd be uncool.

"Tell the truth," Stiles said as he closed the lid of his laptop and attempted to clean his room by shuffling his clothes on the floor around with this feet. "Just leave out the werewolf parts."

"That's all of it."

"Exactly. So you didn't see the attacker."

"I'm so going to jail."

Stiles snorted. Interesting that that's his first thought, Stiles thought.

"You won't go to jail if you convince him," Stiles said. Feelings satisfied with his cleaning, he gave a nod. Isaac still looked worried. "Look, just get some rest. Tomorrow you just…lie. It sucks, but it's better for everybody that you do."

"Everybody?"

"Yeah. There are some people I think you should talk to. They can tell you more about wolfing out than I can for right now. They have experience."

Isaac nodded, taking it all in.

"Right."

"It's good that you came here. I mean, if you changed at home there'd be no one to help you. If you hurt your dad…" Stiles trailed off.

"I'd be free."

A large bubble silence floated between them. Stiles knew what he meant. The rumor of the kind of man Isaac's father was, was confirmed in such a simple sentence. Freedom. Stiles told himself that the two had a tough relationship whenever he heard the rumors. Turned out he was wrong and he hated that. nobody should have that relationship with their parents.

Stiles nodded.

"Thanks." Isaac said. His face pinched together as if the gratitude was a struggle. "People around school think you're some kind of a spastic idiot and I agreed. I agreed until I realized that you're not one at all. Well, you are one, but not...it's confusing. You're weird and spastic, but you've helped me a lot, and all of this—it's crazy."

"I'm with you…" Stiles said with a serious nod. "On the spastic part." Isaac chuckled. "And the crazy part? I'm still reeling, yet not. It's a working progress. There's still a lot I don't know. But an idiot! People give me no credit. I'm totally smart! However, my attention span needs a little work."

"A little?" Isaac's Eyebrows rose.

"Okay! My athletic skill too. Nobody's perfect," Stiles sneered.

Unless you're a freaking werewolf, Stiles finished in thought. Apparently being a werewolf means getting a physical upgrade. Isaac was attractive before, but now it was more refined and there was no reason that Stiles should've been thinking about it, except out of jealousy. Freaking werewolves.

"Let's get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a brand new hell." Stiles said.

Isaac left and went to the guest room across the hall. Tomorrow would be a new day indeed.

Stiles couldn't go with Isaac to the station, but he could stir up rumors around school about his absence. Erica, who'd been hanging around him a lot lately, was highly entertained with the story. There was always a new addition to it each time he told it.

By lunch time he had a small gathering, all intrigued about the story.

"He was attacked by the mountain lion that's on the loose. It was pretty bloody, but there wasn't any scarring. He told me it was because he got a hot doctor and was able to sweet talk her into taking extra care of him which led to some new experimental transplant that lessens scarring."

"Yeah, right!" Jackson snorted from a table over. "I hear he was brought in for questioning because he might be the killer."

"Then why would he maul himself?" Stiles asked, scowling at him for the stupid comment.

Jackson said nothing. Lydia beside him smirked at the reply, but it quickly disappeared when Jackson looked at her, his nostrils flaring and his jaw taut, angry. Being made to look moronic didn't go over well for him ever.

Allison and Scott shared a surprised look and laughed quietly. Stiles felt his chest swell from the small bout of courage. For a change, the words that came tumbling out of his mouth made him look cool instead of the opposite. He continued the story.

When Isaac returned to school the next day too many people were talking to him at once. He sucked inside of himself more than usual and that only made people even more curious—being the silent type only increased people's excitement.

By the time his last class was done, he was ready to sleep. All of the teachers had been easy-going on him with the ordeal and all that, well, except for Mr. Harris. He was his usual ass-like self and even decided to load him up on the homework he'd missed. Lacrosse wasn't much better, but Stiles was there.

Isaac shoved Stiles into the lockers as everyone was filing out to the field. Scott turned, ready to defend him. Stiles was quick to stop him which was good because he didn't want Isaac to snap his best friend in half.

Isaac didn't fully understand why he was so angry right then. It wasn't a big deal. He intended to just tell him to cut it out and they'd laugh about it. He was used to worse rumors. But for some reason, he snapped, and he wasn't sure he could control it.

"Whoa! It's okay." Stiles said, getting up quickly. Isaac scowled at Scott who didn't budge. "I deserve a good beating after spreading those rumors. That or praise for making him sound so awesome."

Isaac turned his hateful stare on Stiles.

"Right. No more stories." Stiles said it quickly. "Scott, I'll meet you out on the field."

"What?" Scott shook his head. The screw up look on his face was obvious-was Stiles crazy?

"Really. Isaac's not going to beat me to a bloody pulp. Are you buddy?" He patted the senior's bicep.

Isaac remained the same. Scott hesitated, but finally left. Stiles spun on Isaac.

"Dude, you really need to calm down."

"Calm down." The anger vanished from his face and was replaced with flat disbelief. "You're stupid."

"You were about to wolf out in front of Scott. I could tell. You were one step away from having claws out." Stiles said.

Isaac replied simply.

"Your friend is weird."

Stiles scoffed. After all of that all Isaac could think was, his friend is weird? Wow. Stiles resisted rolling his eyes. Keeping all of this under wraps was proving to be ridiculously difficult. He was only one human. Werewolves were like twenty humans or something like that.

When the two of them were heading out to the field Stiles caught sight of Scott and waved. He was mumbling to Allison.

"Can you hear them?" Stiles asked.

"Not really. I don't exactly have this all down as you so obviously pointed out."

Stiles looked at him from the corner of his eyes, annoyed. The two caught up with Scott and waited for warm-ups to start.

On the plus side, Isaac wasn't putting any effort into it like he did in shoving Stiles into the lockers earlier, so he was on the bench again. Brett quickly caught his scent though and paused for a moment in shock. He stared at the pair. And, it was just long enough that he was suddenly tackled to the ground by Jackson. Coach's whistle blew and practice was frozen, like pressing the pause button of a movie. Each of the players, even the benched, watched, waiting for some kind of blow-up. They just weren't sure who it would come from. Brett's face was a deepening shade of red.

"Oh crap," Stiles mumbled.

"What the hell!?" Brett yelled. "I'm on your team."

"You were wide open and in la-la land." Jackson said. He shoved him with his lacrosse stick.

Brett chuckled, nodding his head, as if taking it in, and then his stick, tight in his hand, swung and nailed Jackson across the head, smacking loudly against the helmet. Jackson didn't fall, but retaliated by tackling Brett to the ground.

"Hey!" Coach bellowed. "Break it up!"

Scott and Danny jumped in quickly and were trying to pull Jackson off of Brett. Other players stood back and watched like it was fight club.

"Should we help?" Isaac queried.

"Nah. Brett is surprisingly sturdy." Stiles said.

Isaac nodded nervously, but took his word for it. Coach blew his whistle until his face was beet red and then continued to blow long after the players had all separated. Scott, Jackson, Brett, and Danny were out of breath.

"What the hell? You are not gorillas. You don't fight for dominance or at least when you do, you do it against the other team. That's when you beat the crap out of someone. Brett!" he point at the kid. "You're benched for the next game. Greenberg!" There was no reply. "Greenberg! Get out here!"

Brett didn't argue. In fact, he looked relieved. He sat on Stiles's other side.

"You did that on purpose." Stiles said.

"I needed a break. Jackson provided the perfect opportunity," Brett stated.

"He does that. Moron." Stiles looked up at the bleachers. Erica gave him a nod and a small smile.

His eyes drifted to Lydia who sat below her on the first set of bleachers. She and Allison were talking, and he wished he could hear them. Being a fly on her shoulder. The thought was heavenly. He knew that she played dumb for Jackson and it was stupid. She was so smart. Lowering yourself just to impress somebody?

"You really ought to move on." Brett commented.

"You don't get it." Stiles said quietly. He turned back around. He didn't know Lydia the way Stiles did. And, just because he was on her brunt, ignorant side all of the time didn't mean he didn't know her. He paid attention. Jackson didn't. He reveled in the power that Lydia allowed him. Stiles sighed. She was too good for Jackson and definitely too good for him. He thought about what Scott said about Erica. She liked him. Stiles hadn't thought about it very much, but now he was. That was a great and stressful debate to think about later. He turned his head to Brett right then with a look that could only be described as complete confusion mixed with stupidity towards the werewolf. "Why did you purposely get yourself benched?"

Brett shrugged and then smirked.

"I like to keep things interesting. I get bored easily. Plus, he had it coming."

"He always has it coming," Isaac said.

Stiles looked back at the bleachers, but this time at Erica. His gaze lingered a little too long. He was hung up on that bright smile she always flashed him. She really trusts me with all of this, he thought. It had been a long time since he'd seen her and longer since he'd thought about her, and this year she returned to her home town. Stiles had never thought about those who could be thinking about him. He certainly never thought she would be one of those people. She was Erica. The epileptic girl who was shy, sweet and quiet in elementary school. That girl was replaced with someone new, and she seemed to like this version.

"Also," Brett continued. "I think there's something off about Scott."

"Huh?" Stiles came back to the conversation. "What about Scott?"

"There's something off about him," Brett repeated. "I think he's like us."

"Scott?" Stiles laughed. "Do you know Scott? Oh wait, you're new, so no. Scott is the nice guy who finishes last. He's the guy who drives his mom to work. He's got those dimples that make grandmas want to pinch his cheeks, and he stumbles over his own words and feet." Stiles paused for a moment. I pay way too much attention my best friend, he thought. "He's not a werewolf."

The thought was absurd.

"He'd tell me if he was."

"Are you sure?" Brett asked. His forehead creased with uncertainty.

"Definitely."

Brett didn't press it any further, but Stiles could tell he wanted to. He looked out to the field. Scott had been acting strange this year, but he was always strange. It wasn't supernatural, but Stiles started wondering now. Were all of these changes _just_ from working out and practice over the summer?

After practice, Stiles let Isaac go with Brett, Erica and Boyd. He'd have the answers about his newfound abilities and maybe Erica would get some answers about the werewolf who bit him.

"Why don't you come with us?" Erica tried. Her eyes were hopeful.

Stiles threw his bookbag to the backseat. Being involved and wanted in a group was rather satisfying, and though he wanted to go and discover as much information as he could about this new world he'd been pulled into, he couldn't. The date to go see his mom had come up fast and he had to be there. For that reason, he needed these next couple of days to himself, which was part of the reason he was quick to dump Isaac on her feet. He had a feeling they'd accept him into the pack anyway.

"Actually, I can't. I have to be somewhere and I can't get out of it. I'm sorry." He said to her, offering a tight-lipped smile. Getting into his Jeep, he left the parking lot. He didn't want to talk about any of it more than he had to. It didn't make him any less sorry either.


	9. Chapter 9

**Quick Blurb - Thank you to those who have come across the story and enjoy it. While I'm just the writer, the one who asked me to write this is** orionastro. **Her is a brand new chapter for you.**

* * *

Chapter 9

It was gray outside. It held an empty threat of rain. Stiles sat on the edge of his bed, dressed like it was any other day. His shirt was wrinkled from being crumpled up on the floor for the last week, but it was whatever.

He wasn't going to practice today. And, he wasn't going to think about homework or werewolves or his pathetic love for Lydia Martin. Today was different. Today there was only one person he was thinking about.

"Mom," he said under his breath. He missed her so much.

Though breakfast did seem tempting, he decided he'd eat later. He didn't feel hungry at all right now. He was going to visit her later on in the afternoon. For now, he sat there and felt cold. The sad emptiness and longing was stronger today more than it had ever been.

He breathed in and out steadily. He was going to be brave today. He was going to be brave even though he felt utterly weak and reduced to his seven-year-old self.

He got up and went downstairs. Dad was already gone. He had his own way with dealing with today. He would go visit her tonight on his way home from his shift probably.

Stiles grabbed his car keys and drove around town, circling the cemetery until he finally stopped in its gravelly excuse for a parking lot. For a few minutes, he just sat in the car until the engine was cold. His hands rested on the steering wheel, his thumbs tapping in no particular rhythm.

"Right," he sighed.

It was always this difficult. Always a struggle. It was even hard to breathe. But, he was always able to make it.

He got out of the car, took a deep breath, and walked along the gravel walkway into the cemetery. The place was morbid and cold. Stiles shivered. Mom wasn't too far in. Once at the second crossroad, he turned left. His hands were in his pockets as far as they'd go.

He stopped in front of the polished grey stone. Its entirety was clean and there were fresh flowers, white lilies, at the base of the tombstone. Stiles crouched and let his hands dangle over his knees.

"Hey mom," he said quietly, "it's been a while. I'm sorry."

He talked. There was a lot to cover. It had been a full year since the last visit. Stiles talked about Scott's weirdness, Lydia (she was a big subject), but surprisingly, he talked about Erica the most. He talked about the little things he noticed about her, and then he talked about the obvious things. He talked in complete circles about her to the point that he was frustrated. He talked about being suddenly dragged into being an emissary. He still wasn't quite sure what that entailed. Then he went back to the subject of Erica.

"She's overly aggressive. Takes serious charge. It's very intimidating. I think the whole lacrosse team is afraid of her, except for Scott." He droned on and on, not realizing that it was getting dark.

The two single lamps in the cemetery lit and sent a timid glow over the cemetery. For a while, Stiles sat in silence.

"I miss you," he said finally. "I wish I knew what you had to say about all of this because I think I'm losing my mind." He shook his head. "The only thing I should have to worry about is getting my first girlfriend or finding a date to homecoming. But I got lucky. I get to worry if I'm going to be alive tomorrow and the next day…and the next."

A rustling sound startled the teen. She shot up to his feet and his ears perked, honing in on whatever was out there. He couldn't see a thing. The lamp light was poor and his eyesight wasn't werewolf-powerful.

A low growl came from behind. Stiles spun around. He didn't have any way of defending himself from whatever was out there. Erica and the others were tied up for the night. They wouldn't dare be out here to hurt him…or to help him. He heard the growl again. It was close.

Stiles backed carefully to the nearest lamp. It was at least a hundred feet away. Whatever was out there was on the prowl, and he was the prey. A shadowed figure moved in the corner of his eye. He thought about shouting, but what if it was an animal? Stiles groaned.

It was an animal, but that wasn't all…

"Scott?" Stiles said in a short breath, taken aback.

The shadow stepped into the pale orange light and Stiles stumbled back, his back slamming back into the metal pole of the lamp at seeing his best friend. Scott's face was shaped into something completely animalistic, a werewolf. Brett was right.

Stiles released a shutter of a breath. It was him. It was Scott and in a way not. His ears pointed, and his face was morphed into that of an animal. The curvatures were wolf-like and his hair was a little longer. Stiles's eyebrows furrowed as it all sank in.

"You lied." He said low.

Scott stared at him through glowing gold eyes and emitted a low growl. Both boys remained glued, frozen.

"You lied!" Stiles shouted angrily.

Scott flinched at the words and snarled in response. Stiles shook his head furiously. This wasn't his friend right now. This was a monster who was staring at him like he was a chew toy. Scott's upper lip twitched, flashing his canines and his hands flexed with claws extending past his fingertips.

Scott edged toward him the way a predator would its prey. He bared his teeth.

"You lied!" Stiles shouted again. "You told me you were okay. This isn't okay, Scott! You're supposed to be my best friend! You're supposed to trust me!"

Scott released a roar. That's when Stiles realized it. Scott didn't have any control right now. He wasn't going to be able to stop himself from hurting people, hurting Stiles. Running wasn't going to do any good. Stiles was as good as dead. He gulped and it was like swallowing a rock.

Another growl pierced through the night. Stiles's heart pounded even harder. Great, he thought to himself, now I'm going to be between two wolves fighting for dinner. Awesome.

As Scott advanced, and fast, on Stiles, the second mysterious one out there blurred past Stiles and shoved Scott. He rolled backwards on the grass and came up crouched on his hands and feet. The one crouched in front of Stiles was Isaac. The Senior didn't look back at him. He and Scott growled at each other, completely displeased with each other's presence.

"Isaac, don't. He's a lying jackass, but I don't think he's himself," Stiles said quickly.

Isaac tensed, but didn't move from the protective stance he took.

"Isaac?"

Isaac snarled.

Scott's eyes were suddenly not gold anymore and he looked at Isaac in utter shock, but not as much as when he looked up at Stiles who was still shaking.

"Stiles," he said with a lisp. He took a step back. And, then another. "I—"

"You lied," Stiles gritted out in a harsh whisper.

Scott's eyes were wide with bewilderment and he looked back down at Isaac who'd relaxed and stood; his eyes were no longer gold either. He'd gained enough control back of himself. He glanced back at Stiles with a look that Stiles could only assume was shame?

"Stiles, I didn't want—there wasn't any—I-"

Stiles shook his head and shoved past Isaac.

"I asked you! I gave you every chance to tell me! I thought—I defended! I said that you wouldn't betray me like that because you _trust_ me."

"And this?" Scott shot back quickly. It was a punch thrown in response and it hurt like hell. Scott nodded at Isaac who growled low.

Stiles couldn't reply at first. Scott's reveal as a werewolf was still sinking in. Scott was on the opposite side of this encounter. He was the guy Stiles was angry at and…afraid of. He didn't recognize him. Then there was Isaac and seeing him here not locked up made Stiles feel even more uneasy. This was his first full moon. How was he in such control?

Stiles breathed in, sucking in air like vacuum after realizing he hadn't been breathing. He shook his head.

"How could I tell you? You were so involved in your new life, which I wasn't exactly invited to," Stiles said referring to Scott's new spot on the lacrosse team and Allison. It came out surprisingly calm and monotone. In a way, those words had been building up. He just hadn't thought about it until now. Funny how issues you never knew about surface.

"Stiles—" Scott tried. It came out a gravelly and past all of the aggressive features, Stiles could tell he was trying to reach out. But Stiles shook his head. A sappy, apologetic look wasn't going to do it this time.

"I don't even know you. You could be the killer! Did you kill those people?" Stiles exclaimed.

Scott roared, offended by the accusation. Stiles jumped, moving to hide behind the lamp pole. Isaac tensed.

"Leave," Isaac growled out. His hands shook in clenched fists. Blood dripped off the back of them.

Scott looked at Stiles desperately, but Stiles just stared at the glistening, dew grass sparkling in the dim glow of orange light.

There was nothing but silence for a long time. Stiles didn't count the minutes. Isaac started to walk and Stiles quickly followed, not wanting to see if there would be anymore confrontations tonight. It wasn't much safer with Isaac however. Full moon and all. Thinking about it, Stiles would rather take his chances with Isaac anyway. The guy was more built than him-werewolf muscles. Plus, he got the strange feeling that he wouldn't try to break every bone in his body.

"Hey, Isaac?" Stiles stopped. Isaac stopped a couple steps ahead of him and turned. His forehead was still creased deeply. "Thanks."

"Yeah…sure."

Stiles could tell that Isaac wasn't sure what he was talking about.

"About the flowers. You did that, right?"

Isaac shrugged, purposefully keeping his eyes straight ahead.

"You didn't have to."

"I work here. It's my job…" Isaac said bluntly. Stiles nodded. Awkward sappy moment over. Isaac sighed. "She was a nice woman. She and my mom were friends."

Stiles didn't ask him why he didn't lock himself up. He didn't ask why he was out in the cemetery. He said nothing. That was enough for now.


	10. Chapter 10

**I want to reach out and say thank you for those who've reviewed and put the story on their follow lists.**

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Chapter 10

Stiles glanced around the cafeteria. He spotted Scott quickly at the usual table. His face heated up at seeing Allison right next to him, chatting nervously. Of course, her could talk to her, Stiles thought. Her fingers fidgeted on the table in front of her, making Stiles's fingers clench around the edges of his tray. Both of them were watching him, waiting for him to come sit with them.

It was Monday and the day seemed paler than most outside. The sky wasn't filled with grey clouds. It was just blindingly bright white and gloomy. He hadn't talked to Scott at all since the encounter in the cemetery, and he didn't reply to any of his voicemail or texts. Stiles just couldn't deal with him right now. He bit the inside of his cheek hard.

He saw Erica, Boyd and Brett. Isaac was sitting with them now. And, he wanted to be angry at them too for being right about Scott. He believed so much that Scott would've told him everything. Erica met his eyes and smiled softly. It was filled with a friendly offer to sit to sit with them. It faded quickly when he didn't smile returned, but she still waited hopefully.

Stiles didn't sit at either table. He took the end of the empty one off to the left. Lunch was unappealing as usual. He wasn't hungry enough to eat. The fries looked really limp and sad and the burger was dry and flat, really flat, barely there flat. Not worth it.

The feeling of pinpricks from the eyes of his best friend who might possibly be his former best friend, now he wasn't sure. And, the eyes of a pack of werewolves who declared him an emissary and anchor was-for lack of a better word-painful. The overwhelming stress was more than he should be forced to deal with. Even his dad was starting to notice.

The bell ending lunch rang. It felt like the period ended too quickly and the sludge that mimicked food was tossed in the trash on Stiles's way out.

No matter how hard he tried, Stiles couldn't focus in class. Each time Scott and Allison reached out to try to talk to him he ignored them. In the halls, he walked past them like they didn't exist. Stiles even skipped lacrosse practice. What was the point of showing up anyway?

Stopping at a red light on the way home, Stiles decided to take a detour and drop by the police department. His dad was in his office and surrounded by boxes and files. The room swam in afternoon dust.

"What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at practice?" His dad wasn't angry. Just curious. Stiles didn't come by the station all that often.

Stiles shrugged in reply. He didn't want to be there and watch Scott be the star again. Now, that he knew about him, it was all just cheating.

"I thought I'd take the day off," he said quietly.

That's when the Sheriff looked up, his eyes filled with concern. Stiles knew what he was wondering. Did this have to do with the anniversary? It wasn't that.

"Everything okay, son?"

Time stopped for only a second and Stiles imagined telling him everything and him being understanding and then giving some out-of-this-world advice that would get Stiles through this. It wouldn't be crazy and unbelievable. No, his dad would do that thing that parents do. Support him. But Stiles didn't tell him anything. He lied.

"Yeah, Dad. I'm fine. I just wanted to ask if you wanted me to grab dinner tonight." Stiles pointed at the piles of boxes. "You look like you're going to have a long night."

A grateful smile spread over the Sheriff's face and he nodded.

"That would great."

Stiles spun his keys by the key-ring around his finger. A few of the fellow officers put in orders as well. And, now I'm a delivery boy, Stiles thought; he took the orders anyway. His lips pressed together tightly.

He drove to the Dairy King. The wait was ten very long minutes. Sitting on the table top of one of the picnic tables, Stiles didn't see Isaac come up to him.

"You weren't at practice today," he said, plainly. His eyebrows were knitted together. Being that close to the sun, Stiles figured he'd squint too.

"You're observant," Stiles said blatantly. He didn't look up.

"Why?"

"Why…" Stiles pressed his molars over his tongue. Now wasn't a good time to be pulling jokes, but that was always a perfect time. "You know, I'm straight."

Isaac took a step back with a look of extreme alarm. He waved his hands in front of him and shook his head quickly.

"It's nice that you care, but I'm just not that into you," Stiles continued. He kept a straight face, but struggled to do so. "Why I do what I do is none of your damn business."

Stiles nodded. He felt relieved and even chuckled to himself about the joke he inserted. He knew Isaac wasn't gay, but it got him to back off just enough. It was cool that he was all concerned. Not a lot people reached out to Stiles, ever.

Isaac glared at him now, sneering even, but didn't leave. He sat on the other side of the picnic table.

"Not funny," Isaac commented.

"Yeah, my sarcasm isn't everybody's brand of coffee." Stiles shrugged. "Unlike you guys who have sharp teeth and claws, I just have sarcasm. It's kind of—my only defense. And, right now, I'm real defensive since my best friend is an asshole."

Still, Isaac didn't say anything. He just listened to Stiles as he ranted on. Little by little Stiles's anger escalated until his fists and teeth were clenched tightly. Stiles didn't know why he let all his frustrations out on Isaac. He shouldn't have. Isaac wasn't his other best friend. He was just a classmate, an acquaintance. But as Stiles thought about it, this rant did basically induct the sad werewolf into friendship with him.

"Food's up!" The call came from one of the windows. Four bags and a full cup container were set in the tiny window sill.

Stiles got up and collected the food.

"Help me get this back to the station?" It was a question, and Isaac didn't give any protest. He picked up the drinks and followed Stiles.

Getting it all off of his chest to Isaac, the Scott-being-a-werewolf, did make him feel better if only a little.

The Sheriff was surprised to see Isaac with Stiles when they walked into the office. The surprise wasn't pleasant either since he was on the phone and whatever the news was, it wasn't good. Stiles set the bag of food on the empty spot in front of his dad and then waited for him to get off the phone. Isaac remained glued in the doorway of the office, still holding the drinks. After realizing that he wasn't going to move, Stiles took the drinks and set them down beside the food. Grease was soaking through the bottom of the bags.

"Isaac, were at home last night?" The Sheriff asked the second he hung the phone up on its handle.

"Uh, that's a weird question," Stiles said.

"Quiet." The word was blunt and his dad's firm eyes didn't stray from the tall teenager.

"No, sir," Isaac replied quietly. He stared down at the floor.

"Where were you?"

"My dad was—he-I ran away. I ended up in the old subway downtown."

He struggled with the words obviously hiding something. It wasn't the kind of struggle, like trying to lie. This was different. There was fear in his voice.

"What happened?"

The questions were straightforward, interrogation style. Stiles frowned and looked between the two of them, unsure of how to intercede. Isaac wasn't a killer. Stiles knew because if he was, he wouldn't be the one with the most control in his…alternate state of being. Yeah, that was a good way to say he was a werewolf.

"Dad…"

"Stiles! Quiet! Or get out."

"He was hitting me and I ran." Isaac spoke fast now, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"At what time?"

"Between 10:30 and 11:30, I think. I don't know. It's not like I was checking the clock after each time he knocked me senseless."

The Sheriff let out a long breath and a nod.

"What's going on? You don't think Isaac has anything to do with the murders?" Stiles asked with a shake of his head.

"No, but I had to ask because of the information I just received." The phone call.

"Why? What information?"

Another sigh, but this one was heavier, more heartbroken. His eyes softened the way they did when he had to break terrible news. Stiles had seen it so many times when he had to go visit the families of cops, his friends, who'd been killed on duty.

"Isaac, your father was found dead this morning. The coroner just identified him through dental records. He's unrecognizable. It's believed that it's the same killer of those campers."

Isaac didn't move, didn't even blink. He just stared. At what? Was he even breathing? Stiles wasn't sure, but he blurted without thinking.

"Can he stay with us?"

Stupid question and it made him feel about eight years old for some reason.

"I think that's a good idea. I don't know if the killer will come after you next, Isaac. It's better if you have protection or right now," the Sheriff replied.

Stiles turned, and his eyes squinted. Isaac didn't need protection. He was all good on that front. But a place to stay that wasn't a murder scene and being surrounded by people that actually cared was what Stiles was thinking about. Isaac didn't say anything. Not even when the Sheriff told him to go home and grab a couple things. There were a couple officers still at the scene, so the Sheriff called ahead for them.

"I'll see you boys at home," he said as they left.

Stiles saluted and Isaac followed him out of the station. He still didn't speak. It was like he was a walking dead person.

Isaac didn't talked during the drive or even as he packed up what little he did have-an old Army duffle bag-full. Probably his brother's. The drive to the house was quiet, too, until Stiles couldn't stand it anymore.

"So…" he said. "Uh, how are you feeling?"

Death was not only a sore subject for Stiles, but extremely awkward. Because, how did you ask somebody if they were okay when they obviously weren't? Or how did you try to make things okay when they wouldn't be for a long time? Death left holes in that people who were lost were supposed to fill. It was numbing and silencing.

"Okay, actually." Isaac replied. He sounded okay too. "It's weird. I don't feel anything much. Well, not true...I feel free."

And that was it.

Stiles caved and called Erica, and she called Boyd and Brett, and they came over to the house. Erica didn't talk about the estrangement to all of them that Stiles had been emanating all day. It was past. For him and for everyone else. Plus, he'd been mad at them. He was still mad at Scott who had left even more messages on his phone. They ordered pizza and started a _Walking Dead_ marathon. Stiles owned the first five seasons. Zombies put everyone in a better mood, even Stiles. There was no talk of the dead or of werewolves or school.

Erica had taken Stiles's right side on the couch. He got lucky to get the left arm of the couch. Being in the middle sucked since that part of the couch had a habit of eating people. And, Erica was in the middle, but due to being small, she was lucky. Brett was voted for making popcorn runs. Cost of being the youngest.

Stiles, pretending not to notice, did feel Erica's leg touching his. Focusing on the show helped him ignore a nagging curiosity that was making his heart sky rocket. Stupid thoughts was all they were. Though, if anyone asked, since he was in the room with freaks-of-nature that had hyper-active senses including super hearing, the zombies were freaking him out not the closeness of the girl sitting next to him. Nobody asked. However, he swore that Erica was sneaking at him.

"Dude, that's disgusting," Brett commented.

"It only gets worse."

"I liked Dale," Isaac said and frowned.

Stiles nodded. He liked him, too. He didn't tell him about Hershel. Isaac really liked him, too. Stiles liked Glenn. He proved that being a pizza boy was pretty awesome and you could still get the girl. The girl…He looked at Erica again.

You like Lydia, he reminded himself. But did he? Yes. But now he might've liked Erica, too. Shit.

Zombies groaned with exhaustion on the TV screen. I understand, Stiles thought.

When the Sheriff came home all five teens were passed out. He stared at all of them, contemplating whether to wake them and send them home or let them sleep and just call their parents to let them know they were alright. He let them sleep and went to the kitchen to call the station for the numbers to their houses. As he called the first number he glanced back into the living room. The light from the TV flickered over them.

Isaac's head was all the way back and he faced the ceiling. His Adam's apple bobbed with a dry swallow of air, but he didn't move. Brett was in the other arm chair, curled up with his feet dangling over the arm of the chair and head dug into the back of the chair. His arms were crossed over his chest. Boyd had his feet propped up on the coffee table and like Isaac, his head lay back on the head rest of the couch. Erica's head lied on Stiles's shoulder cozily and she leaned on him. It made the Sheriff smirk because Stiles didn't budge and his hand rested on her knee. The two of them were close and it looked like it was so common for the two of them. The Sheriff hadn't heard any bad news on the girl. She'd just been away for a few years.

The dial tone in the Sheriff's ear ended and it beeped horrendously loud. He had to pull it away and then put it back to his ear _: I'm sorry, but the number you have called has either been disconnected or does not exist. Hang up and try again. Goodbye._ Click.


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey! Wanted to pop up and say thank you for your support. I'm glad you are enjoying the story.**

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Chapter 11

Monday. The regular hustle and bustle in the hallways of Beacon Hills High was different. Everything looked the same. People were talking about their weekends. They grumbled about it being Monday and how unhappy they were that the weekend was over. However, Stiles wasn't feeling too bad that the weekend was over.

Erica was at her locker. She and Boyd were talking. Stiles saw her glance his way as he passed her. Scott was watching him, too. A sulky look, much like a puppy dog. That thought made Stiles laugh under his breath. Though he walked to his locker by himself and then went to class alone, he wasn't alone. There was Erica, Isaac, Brett and Boyd. His friends.

He still couldn't talk to Scott right now. He wasn't ready. The anger was still fresh and open like a wound. And, seeing Allison standing with him didn't make Stiles feel better. How come she got to know before him?

Scott still took his usual seat in front of Stiles in class. He turned in his seat as soon as he sat down.

"Stiles, you're going to have to talk to me some time," he said.

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and kept a hard, dead stare at the board. Scott sighed.

"You can't stay angry at me forever," Scott continued.

"I can try."

The teacher called attention to the class. Scott hung his head and turned back around.

"How could you? Tell her before me? _I'm_ your best friend. You had to know I'd still be there for you," Stiles said under his breath, knowing full well that Scott could hear him.

Stiles didn't wait for Scott when the bell rang at the end of class. It was like that for the rest of the day. Except for when Erica or Boyd of Brett were hanging around. With them, Stiles felt at ease. They didn't lie to him. Even Isaac was hanging out with him and that, by some strange outcast code, made Stiles cool.

Stiles went to practice after school and Coach yelled at him. It took him by surprise. It took everyone by surprise.

"Where were you yesterday?! Practice is for all of the team. I don't care if you were puking up that undercooked lunch they serve in the cafeteria or that you ride the bench! You show up!" Stiles just stared at the spikey haired man, eyebrows raised. This was the first time that Coach had ever yelled at him outside of Economics. Coach stopped and stared at Stiles, his eyes bulging angrily. Isaac, next to him was covering his mouth, trying not to laugh. So was Brett behind Coach. Jackson grinned satisfied at seeing this. Coach shook his head and Stiles realized he was waiting for a response.

"O-okay?" he stammered, confused.

"Damn right!" Coach shouted. "Now, go sit!"

Coach turned and started shouting at the team for not being on the field. Stiles stood for a moment longer still dazed by the interaction. Oddly, it left him satisfied. Coach didn't pay attention to his players if he didn't like them.

"And, you thought he didn't think you existed," Isaac snorted.

After practice, Stiles and Isaac drove over to the old Hale place. Somehow, it was a hangout for all of them. They all came here and could be themselves, be werewolves and emissary and there was nobody around them to see.

"So this is where you go?"

On the porch, Stiles turned to see that Scott and Allison were coming up the scorched steps. His face was furrowed with anger.

"You get pissed at me, and yet, here you are. You're all friendly with these guys, also werewolves," Scott seethed.

Stiles didn't say anything, but fumed. His nostrils flared. He should've been surprised that Scott had followed him out here, but he wasn't. Beside him, he heard Brett growl under his breath. Allison wasn't saying a word. She looked like she was feeling a mixture between anger and awkwardness.

"I don't get it! What makes it okay to hang around them!?" Scott pointed at Erica. "They could kill you!"

"They didn't lie to me! Has that not sunk in yet!?" Stiles yelled. "Huh!? No? They told me from the get go. They TOLD me. They came to me for help. And, it was shocking because nobody's ever come to me, wanting my help with anything. But they did. You didn't. You're my best friend…my brother. And, you felt like you could tell your girlfriend of three months over your best friend of nearly ten years?" Stiles's voice cracked.

Scott stood there slack-jawed and speechless. That's when Allison spoke.

"We didn't want to put you in danger," she said timidly. "The one that…the one that bit him. He's still out there."

"We know," Isaac piped up quietly. "It's how I was changed."

Scott nodded, not as if in agreement, but as if finished with this whole conversation. He turned and walked back to Allison's car. Allison didn't move.

"Don't stay angry at him forever, Stiles. You two shouldn't be split up right now with all that's going on. The alpha that's out there…"

"It's Peter Hale," Erica interrupted. Stiles could see the cold look in her eyes. It wasn't angry. It was territorial. "He's psychotic."

Allison nodded.

"We think he has another-" she glanced at Isaac, "a third werewolf."

At that, she turned and went to catch up with Scott. Stiles stopped her.

"How do you know about all of this? How are you so comfortable with it?"

He partially wanted to know in an advice kind of way. Another reason was because Scott told her.

"My family…" She looked down at her shoes. "We're hunters."

"Hunters…" Stiles said, wanting to hear from himself, taking it in.

Every wolf by him, except for Isaac, growled angrily. Erica put her clawed hand on Stiles's shoulder. Allison didn't jump or even appear to be fazed by their reaction. It was like she expected it. That's when it clicked and quickly. A hunter of wolves. Stiles sighed in disgust.

"I'm not like them. Me or my dad. It's terrible and it's a tradition we're changing," she said. "You don't have to worry about us. I swear."

That didn't relax any of the others. She walked away.

"This just keeps getting more…" Stiles threw up his hands in a jumbled, strangling mess, making Erica laugh. He didn't have any words for how this all felt. He needed to talk to someone. He needed to talk to Deaton, the very calm and reasoning voice of reason. Not to mention, he knows about all of this. He knows how to handle it.

"Deaton?" Stiles said, entering the animal clinic. It was closing time.

Stiles entered from the back door of the clinic since clinic was closed. He walked past the kennel and found the veterinarian in the exam room. He was restocking his cupboard. Looking away, Deaton smiled at seeing Stiles.

"These visits have become quite frequent."

"Sorry," Stiles mumbled. He looked down at his shoes.

"Don't be. It's welcome."

"I just don't have a lot of people I can talk to about…" Stiles gave a nod. Deaton understood what he meant. He didn't have a lot of people to talk to about werewolves.

"No, I can't imagine you do," Deaton said.

"I was wondering," Stiles paused. He had a feeling he knew the answer already, but still. "Did you know Scott was a werewolf?"

Deaton stopped stocking. His shoulders tensed and he sighed.

"I had a feeling, but I wasn't sure," he replied honestly.

He turned around. Stiles's hands hung limply at his sides.

"Stiles, don't be too angry with him. He was probably trying to protect you," Deaton said.

They were words of reason, just like Stiles was expecting. He wanted to feel better. He wanted everything to go back to normal between him and Scott. He was also pissed at himself for not realizing that Scott suffered from a disease of the lupe-kind. It should've been obvious with his sudden skill at lacrosse.

"I'm his best friend though," Stiles mumbled.

"It's okay to be angry, Stiles. You have the right. Just don't stay angry for too long," Deaton suggested, putting his hand on Stiles's shoulder. He turned to a new topic. "How is Erica?"

"Uh, Erica?" Stiles coughed, feeling a rush of heat in his cheeks. That was a strange thing to ask. "Why?"

"Well, with a werewolf on the loose, Peter Hale, so I'm told, she is at the top of his kill list since she's taken responsibility over her late Alpha's pack. He wants to be Alpha and to him, she's in the way."

The color drained from Stiles's face. She never told him that. All he saw was her smile and laugh and be happy that she had people around her, people who cared. They were all deeply concerned about Peter being in Beacon Hills, killing people and turning them. Stiles didn't know he was just circling her, waiting to strike. Why didn't she say anything?

"You didn't know…" Deaton trailed off. "It seems like Scott is not the only one trying to protect those he cares about."

Stiles's heart skipped a beat and then another. Did Brett and Boyd know about this? Or did they believe that Peter was just out to get them and make new puppies? Stiles's mind swirled with question and his sanity was going down the drain.

"I-I have to go," Stiles stammered. He couldn't think clearly, but he knew that he had to go see her, now.

"Stiles, be careful. I think Peter knows that you're a part of this now. He could use you."

"Everybody uses me. What's new?" He spouted off, trying to break the panic induced tension he was now feeling.

Stiles left the way he came in and went to Erica's house. It wasn't hard to find since she moved back into the same house they'd lived in previously. The lights were out except for the upstairs window on the right. Her parents were asleep. Luckily, roses climbed up the crisscross garden gate up the side of the house. He climbed carefully, but still got stuck with thorns, hissing each time one bit his hands.

Climbing onto the porch roof, he stopped right before tapping on her window, two of his knuckles raised to give a light rap. He turned. She probably heard him climbing. He'd made a lot of noise when his foot got stuck and then when he got it free, he nearly fell off the wall. He wasn't stealthy. But, maybe she was asleep. He rapped on the window with his knuckles and it slid up.

Erica poked her head out the window. Her curly blonde hair was up in a messy bun, and she was wearing a large t-shirt and grey sweatpants. It surprised Stiles that she was so dressed down. He wasn't sure what he was expected PJs to look like, but this wasn't it. This was also the first time he thought about her PJs.

"You're no ninja," she laughed softly.

"No." He held up his hands, showing the bubbles of blood because of the thorns. "I'm not."

He pursed his lips and shook his head, disappointed in himself. Erica stepped aside to let him in. Stiles moved to put one leg in and then stopped.

"I'd better not," he said. "Parents and all. I like it when they like me."

Erica shook her head.

"You are the first guy to decline the window invite." Erica crawled out onto the roof. Stiles found himself even more surprised. She was wearing frog slippers. They were lime green and red like those frogs that live in rainforests. "Don't judge."

They sat out on roof in silence for a couple minutes, staring up at the clear, crisp night. Stiles didn't stare up at the stars often or at the moon for that matter. Now that he was seeing all of it, it was beautiful, magnanimous, eternal. The stars speckled the sky and the moon…It was as if its pale light was a shield. The natural light it provided was untouchable. It washed over him and her, and he felt overwhelmed. He didn't know why though.

"So why are you here?" Erica asked. She flopped and played with her slippers.

"I went to see Deaton," Stiles said. "He said that you're at the top of Peter's hit list. Is he right?"

Erica sighed and hugged her knees to her chest. She settled her chin on her kneecaps. Stiles had never seen her appear more grown up. Like him, she had her antics. She liked to screw with people every now and then. She'd done it to him a couple times. This wasn't one of those times.

"He's right," she answered. She didn't look at him.

"And, why, like Scott, didn't you tell me?" Stiles asked, still calm.

"Why worry you when we're going to take care of it?" She shrugged. "We've got you to help keep us out of danger, right?"

"Me!?" Stiles exclaimed. "I thought I was just supposed to help you guys not wolf out on innocent bystanders!"

Erica burst out laughing.

"Well, yeah!" she said, still cackling.

"You think this is funny? How do I keep you all out of danger? I'm not like you. I don't have hideous fingernails or teeth. No offense." Stiles held up his hands, showing her his fingernails or rather, lack thereof. They were all the way bitten down. "You guys turn into an ugly all your own."

"Hey!" She laughed harder and punched him playfully in the arm.

He laughed a bit himself, but mostly because she was having trouble containing herself.

"It's true!" he defended. The laughter died and he returned to the subject at hand. "How the hell am I supposed to help you guys with a werewolf who ripped apart your Alpha?"

"You don't know do you? You haven't noticed?" Her eyebrows rose.

Stiles knew he was dense. It just happened sometimes, and when people gave him the same expectant look that Eric was giving him right now, it didn't help him figure out the answer.

"Anchors," she said. "You were right. They weren't just a myth."

"What are you saying?"

"That night—the full moon? I never had more control during the shift. Ever."

"Okay…"

"It clicked, Stiles. And, it wasn't just me. Boyd felt it, too. Brett took a little longer and even Isaac admitted it. He said that after it happened he felt like he could talk you about it," Erica said.

"Well, I am a good listener," Stiles said.

Erica gave him a flat look. Stiles smirked and nodded. He knew what she meant.

"You're our anchor," she said finally.

"Ha! No!" he exclaimed. He shook his head at the impossibility. It wasn't possible. "Just no."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." And she was. Her eyes met his with a seriousness he'd never seen before.

"But why?" It came out a whine. "There's nothing remotely connectable about me. I'm all fleshy and human! And, four werewolves deciding that I'm the thing that keeps them sane?!"

He couldn't believe it. Brett and Boyd didn't even really like him. Isaac, too, though they talked more often now that the guy was taking up the guest room in the house.

"Trust me, I know," Erica said. "But it's not all bad. At least you know that you have guard dogs."

Stiles looked at her sideways.

"Werewolf humor," she said.

He just shook his head. Wolf jokes. She's up on the chopping block to be killed. He's an anchor. And, she's making wolf jokes. Of course. Why not?

"I'm scared, Erica," Stiles admitted.

Erica smiled softly and looked up at the moon. Her Ivory skin glowed under the pale light.

"Don't worry." She nudged him with her shoulder, but she failed trying to get upright again and fell into him. She sat like that, stiff and still holding her knees, and then relaxed, staying like that. Stiles wasn't bothered by it. "I'll protect you."

"It's not me that I'm scared for. I don't want you to get hurt," Stiles said quietly.

"I won't."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." Stiles said coldly. Erica looked up to see him frowning and his eyebrows pressing inward. "My mom did that and…well, you know…"

"We'll be okay. I didn't come back to Beacon Hills to die. And, I didn't ask for your help only for my friends and family to get ripped apart."

Stiles nodded. Nobody was dying. That was a silent promise he made to himself.

They sat out on the roof until the early hours and when he did leave, he thought that she was going to invite him inside again. Even more, he thought that she wanted to kiss him. There was a look in her eyes. He'd seen Lydia have it several times a day when she looked at Jackson—God, he hated that guy. But, Erica didn't kiss him.

The sky was still black with the bluest twinkles. Once he made it back home and managed to avoid getting grounded, he went upstairs to his room, but he didn't go to sleep.

He pulled out his phone and dialed. The phone rang four times before there was an answer. Stiles almost hung up, regretting the decision. But, he was worried. Erica was in serious danger and she wasn't even scared.

"Hello?" Scott's voice was gravelly with sleep.

"Scott? Hey," Stiles said. His heart thudded hard in his chest.

"Stiles? What's wrong?"

"I need your help."


	12. Chapter 12

**Hey! I just want to pop up and say thank you for the support. Also, thank** **orionastro. This plot bunny belongs to them. I just wrote the story.**

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Chapter 12

Stiles waited by his Jeep in the parking lot of the school the next morning. He stared around as people were going into the building. Scott came with Allison, but she let him come over alone, but not before handing him something. It looked like a book bound in brown leather. Scott stopped a couple feet away. They didn't talk for several seconds. Stiles stared down at the ground, rolling gravel under his shoe.

"Uh, Allison told me to give this to you. Her Dad said that you should have it being the emissary and all. Hep said it was important that you have it." Scott held the book Allison gave to him out. Stiles took it, unwinded the leather cord from around the worn leather book. Inside there were entries upon entries. All of them were about supernatural creatures. "She called it a bestiary."

"You mean bestiality," Stiles said.

Scott laughed at that. Jokes. That was a good sign. Stiles closed the book and tucked into his bookbag. Stiles couldn't laugh. Not yet. Their friendship wasn't the same as before. It never would be even though he wished it would be. They were a part of this new life. Doing it together was a start though. A start to what? That part was still overwhelming to think about.

"So…you said you needed my help," Scott said.

"Yeah," Stiles scratched his temple. "The werewolf-alpha that bit you and Isaac is-"

""Peter Hale."

Stiles nodded. Scott already knew. That's good. That saved him from having to try and explain. He didn't ask how he knew. It was obvious. Stiles glanced past Scott at Allison who was already making her way into the school. Her head hung forward as she held her bohemian styled bag to her shoulder.

"He's looking to come after Erica."

Scott's eyebrows furrowed.

"Why?"

"Because when her alpha was killed, she took over taking care of the pack. And, they follow her. She's the leader even though Peter is the alpha of the pack. He doesn't want competition or anything like that. He's going to kill her. I don't know why he hasn't yet. It's like he's biding his time. I need to help her. I just…I haven't figured out how just yet."

They went into the school together. Allison offered a small smile from her locker. As the two friends passed by Erica and the others, they received stares. Stiles gave them a nod.

"We have to work together on this. Stiles I'm on your side," Scott told him as they stopped at Stiles's locker.

Stiles's sighed, pausing after pulling out his history book. Scott was right. IT's why he called him in the first place. The more man power the better chances of survival.

"I believe you…" he said. "I just don't know if I trust you anymore, man."

With that he closed his locker and walked off.

Lunchtime was of the most extreme awkwardness. Erica sat on one side of Stiles and Danny on the other. Danny deciding to sit with them so that he could hang around Brett made talking about werewolf business a little difficult. Stiles received a call halfway through and was happy to take it. Lacrosse talk wasn't going all that well anyway.

Deaton had called. He asked for Stiles to come by the animal clinic at close-8pm.

Scott offered to go with him. So did Erica. Stiles declined both offers, but said that maybe Scott should talk to Erica and Boyd about being a werewolf since they seemed to have it down pretty well. Stiles would've done it and enjoyed it, too. He could imagine teaching him how to keep the beast at bay by keeping his heartrate down. It wouldn't have been very conventional or very nice. One of the ways he imagined was nailing him with lacrosse balls. That would've been fun, especially for Stiles. But, Erica would have to help him out. The tone in Deaton's voice made this meeting sound important.

The school day dragged on per usual, but lucky for Stiles, he didn't get detention. Same couldn't be said for Brett who'd mouthed off to Jackson inn P.E.

When Stiles arrived at the animal clinic and again went in through the back. It was starting to feel more and more normal to be coming here. Deaton was in the exam room again. Several small jars were scattered across the metal table. Stiles held up the bestiary Scott handed him.

"I see you've come prepared as well," Deaton said.

"Prepared for what? You weren't dishing out the details about why I had to come," Stiles said warily.

"You're an emissary, Stiles. It's time to start learning so you can be an efficient one for your pack."

Stiles's face felt flat. Wasn't high school enough? Now he had to learn more? He sighed and set the leather bound book down. He hadn't gotten through all of it yet.

"So what am I learning today, professor?" Stiles mustered up his best smile.

Deaton returned and held up a tiny jar with what looked like black sand inside of it. It glittered under the pale light of the lamp that hung over the exam table.

"This is perhaps the most important thing you need to know about. It's mountain ash."

He handed the jar to Stiles. Stiles held it up, turning the jar over in his hand.

"Go ahead. Open it."

Stiles did. The mountain ash was dusty on his fingertips. He poured out a little into the center of his palm. His inner instinct was telling him to throw it up which was an odd thing. Closing his fist, he tossed it up. The mountain ash sprang up and then down like a fountain and encompassed him in a perfect circle. Deaton watched with a small smirk. Stiles looked around at the circle. Well, it's cool, he thought.

"That circle will repel supernatural beings. Most of them anyhow," Deaton explained.

"Oni." Stiles said, turning his head to look at him. "I read about them in the bestiary. Allison's dad wrote in there that he'd seen one on one of his first hunts."

"Yes. Some are beyond mountain ash, but that doesn't mean they don't have weaknesses. You need to know these."

Stiles nodded, looking down at the circle once more. This simple tree repelled those that creeped around in the night.

"Now this," Deaton held up another jar. It was full of thick, cleat liquid. He handed it to Stiles. "is a little different."

Stiles flipped the jar over in his hands, watching it slowly ooze from top to bottom to top. He opened it. It didn't have smell, but looked seriously gross. With his nose wrinkled, he dipped the tip of his finger in. The liquid was slimy and sticky like sap.

"Gross," Stiles mumbled and set the jar down.

A weird sensation tickled in his fingers and crawled up his arm. It started to move quicker up his arm and over his whole body. He couldn't feel anything. He was going paralyzed. Deaton just smiled, trying not to laugh.

"Wha-" Stile's lips were numb and his tongue wouldn't move. His legs wobbled and he crumpled to the ground in a tangled mess. "wh-hppnd!"

Deaton chuckled as he moved around the table and kneeled down beside the teenager.

"That is kanima venom. It's paralytic. That's how they get to their victims. It's very useful when you want to stop an enemy, but not kill them."

Stiles stared straight ahead. He couldn't even move his eyes. That made Deaton chuckle some more.

"Don't worry. It'll wear off in a few hours. Just focus on trying to move your toes and fingers. Those are usually the first to gain feeling back."

"A-foo-hrs!?" Stiles squawked.

Deaton rolled Stiles onto his side, making it easier for him to breathe.

Stiles couldn't move and that left him alone with his thoughts as Deaton went on talking about the kanima and its physical and characteristic traits. Stiles kept thinking about what he'd said previously. The venom was to stop an enemy without killing it, but if this enemy was Peter Hale, a man who killed several people and deserved the terrible fate of death, then where did these kinds of people go? That's exactly what he asked as soon as he was able to stand. His legs were still wobbly, but he managed while leaning against the exam table.

"You said that the venom doesn't kill. You don't just let people like Peter Hale walk away do you?" His mouth felt funny and his words had a small lisp. Small bits were still numb.

Deaton's friendly smile diminished and he shook his head.

"No, stiles. They don't walk. There's a special place that holds people like Peter Hale."

Stiles's eyes narrowed as he waited for an answer. Deaton looked down at the table. Stiles realized that this wasn't easy for him. None of this was. The smile and friendliness about it all was just a front. Bringing a kid into this dangerous life wasn't right. They should've been living normal lives. He didn't like that any of them were involved. Erica and Scott included.

"Eichen House," he said at last.

Stiles went pale. His stomach churned. Just hearing the name sent chills down his spine. That place was a horror house and yet, it was called a health institution. His mom spent time there before she passed.

"There's a secret level there where…special people are taken care of."

Special. Psychologically unstable. Clinically insane. Murderous sociopaths. But, these ones weren't only that, he was saying. Supernaturals were put in there. A lot of them were locked up in there with actual patients who were also possibly those things. Stiles swallowed hard.

When he thought about it, like right now, he could hear his mom on a delusional trip perfectly, as if he was eight again. Her voice was hysterical. She would blame him sometimes, telling him it that was all his fault. He was remembering that kind of trip, but couldn't remember some of the things she'd yell. He just remembered that it terrified the hell out of him. When it got bad enough Dad finally put her in Eichen. When it neared the end, she was brought to the hospital.

"We can talk about it another time," Deaton said.

Stiles pulled from the painful memory and gave a silent nod. Deaton's kindness was too much. Stiles didn't know how he came to be so calm, collected and nice. After seeing all of this stuff day in and day out, Stiles wanted to know the secret because he didn't feel any of that.

"How about we move on to wolfsbane?"

"Wolfsbane is wolfsbane…" Stiles said. The plant was pretty straight forward. It incapacitated werewolves, making them sick-dare he think the dumb pun-as a dog, and too much of it could kill one.

"Not the case. There are different strains," Deaton moved more jars to sit on the table between them.

Stiles felt a sliver of hope flutter in his chest. Wolsfbane. Knowing about this could help Erica. Using the right strain on Peter could save all of them. Maybe. All of this was starting to make his head hurt. His head pulsed like getting pricked with a needle. He needed aspirin.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The week ended and Stiles spent most of his Friday night on the bench during the lacrosse game reading the bestiary. He figured it was better than biting his nails waiting hopelessly to play. Isaac was beside him. He faked an ankle sprain during the first half of the game. Now he was asking questions and Stiles was flipping through the pages to find the answers. There was so much information, but all of that information left him with more questions.

Coach shouting at him startled him out of the light reading and he dropped the book.

"Get up! You're on the field!"

"Wait, what?" Stiles sputtered. He stared around blankly. Greenberg was coming off the field holding his head. He took a couple of shaky steps diagonally before sitting down on the far end of the bench. His eyes were dazed when he pulled off his helmet. He blinked a couple times, but was still seriously out of it.

Isaac looked at Stiles with the most weirded-out expression. He was shocked, too. Stiles stared around still confused that it was him Coach was talking to.

"Coach, are you sure?" Isaac asked, shaking his head. "I can go-my ankle-"

"Shut up, Lahey! Stilinski! Now!" Coach waved his clipboard at him violently.

"I'm playing?" Stiles said in disbelief.

"Unless you'd rather play with yourself?" Coach shook his head still wondering why Stiles was on the bench.

"I did that twice today already." Stiles said casually with the blankest of looks, like it was completely normal.

Isaac turned his head away, pinching the bridge of his nose, laughing. Coach's head fell to the side slightly with the briefest disbelief in his scrunched together eyebrows.

"On the field!" Coach shouted again. Stiles flinched and fell off the side of the bench, but scrambled to his feet before it became noticeable.

Looking up into the stands, Stiles quickly bypassed Lydia down front and saw Erica lit up with laughter. She'd heard the whole exchange. Stiles's cheek heated up a cherry red. Thank god for helmets, he thought as he quickly put it on. Isaac was laughing hysterically now.

Brett and Scott shared a confused look as Stiles took his position on the field. His hands wrung the pole of his lacrosse stick.

"Uh, Stiles?" Scott said. "What are you doing out here?"

Before Stiles had a chance to say anything, shouting came from the stands. It was the Sheriff.

"That is my son! My son is playing!"

Stiles smiled. He was here, at his game. A warmth radiated throughout him. With the investigation on the deaths around town, his dad hadn't been able to make it out to the games.

"Stiles?" Brett called is attention back. "What are you doing?"

Even Jackson was confused as he stood not far off. Danny was nudging him in the shoulder to get in position so the referee could blow the whistle.

"Playing…I am on the team." Stiles was the one staring at them like they were the dumbasses now.

"Right." Scott said.

The players all took their positions. Coach was shouting from the sidelines. Stiles could barely make out a word he was yelling. That one vein was bulging out of his forehead. The crowd roared, cheering for a win. Stiles inhaled deeply and then let out a long breath. He closed his eyes, blocking out all of the noise. He needed to think for a moment.

When he opened his eyes there was clarity. It wasn't related to the game or the werewolf attacks or anything like that at all. It was all so simple and…normal. He turned to look back up at the stands again. Erica was on her feet shouting and pumping her fists up in the air with the rest of them. Her ponytail whipped around like a fox's plushy tail. He liked her.

He turned his head forward, smiling. He hadn't felt this kind of confidence before. It was because of everyone else. His friends. His Dad. Her.

All of the field lights shut down, blacking it out entirely. There were shrieks from the sudden jump scare. Coach and the Sheriff calmed everyone, reassuring them that the lights would come back on shortly, sort of. Coach just yelled for everyone to shut up.

When the lights did turn back on, Scott and Brett were on the ground, knocked out, and so were so many other players. Melissa McCall who'd been sitting beside Sheriff Stilinski during the game ran down on to the field. Neither of the boys was suffering any serious injury. Just a concussion and bruising.

"Where's Stiles?" She looked up. Sheriff Stilinski was beside her, whirling about in a panic. "Where's Stiles!?"

Erica was looking around out of breath, too. Isaac was with her. He held the bestiary in his hand tightly.

"Where's my son!?"

But, this wasn't the only outcry. Lydia was wandering out onto the field slowly, her eyes wide with panic. She hugged her arms around herself. Her breath was frosted.

"Jackson?" Her voice was timid. "Where's Jackson?"

The lacrosse captain was gone.

"I think I hit him too hard."

"He's fine. You can hear his heart. Listen. It's steady."

They were whispers at first as Stiles came to. He was in a wooden chair. His hands tied behind him. Breathing in through his nose, wherever he was, it was dank and musty. The side of his head throbbed, making his vision pulse. That didn't much matter because he couldn't see a thing it was so dark. He could hear footsteps though. They were slow, pacing around him.

"Good, the wannabe is awake."

"Who's there?" Stiles sputtered. His heart was racing in chest.

Red eyes, vibrant and ominous stared down at him in response. A chill swept over Stiles. It was the creepy kind. Stiles knew that whoever this was they wanted to kill him. More so, this guy—werewolf, wasn't alone. Stiles saw blue, cobalt blue eyes. They were hypnotizing and terrifying.

"You've been hanging around my pack," The male voice said.

Stiles turned back to red eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat. His lower lip stung. He licked it and winced. It was split open.

"They really seem to like you. You've even drawn my newest members."

"Uh…" that was all Stiles could say. New members?

It dawned on him quickly.

"Peter."

A dim lamp flicked on over Stiles's head, revealing that they were in a garage. But, Stiles wasn't concerned about the where. It was the who that shocked the hell out of him. Peter's blue-eyed accomplice was Jackson. Stiles couldn't believe it. Well, actually, he could. Jackson was _that_ guy. But, how did he know Peter?

Peter knelt down in front of the teenager. A cruel smile spread over his lips.

"Your friends must be worried about you by now. You're so important to them, and I didn't understand. Not until now," he said.

Stiles was still shocked at seeing Jackson. He was a werewolf. He was helping Peter. Stiles's eyes widened. He was helping Peter kill those people! He turned and looked at Peter.

"You're an emissary. Very young, too." Peter said. He was still smiling as if he'd just found gold. "You'll destroy them and it will be beautiful."

Destroy them? His friends? Scott? Erica? Hell no. Peter could do his worst, but Stiles was serious when he said he'd protect them. Right now, that meant possibly getting murdered.

"You don't know me that well, but I'm what you call a benchwarmer. So…no I'm not going to help you. In fact, I'd be pretty useless to whatever scheme you have going," Stiles said.

Peter nodded, taking all the sarcastic information in. As soon as Stiles stopped talking he punched him. The collision of Peter's fist to Stiles's jaw made a loud crack. Jackson shifted a step and still remained stony still like a Greek statue. Why was he here? Was Peter threatening him, too?

Another realization rolled over him, clearing the fog up in his head. Jackson was the other killer. Stiles's shook his head.

"I knew you were a jerk, but I didn't think you were a killer," he said low. His body slumped forward.

"It's not fair that Scott got this amazing gift."

"A gift that he's wasting, unlike Jackson here," Peter chimed in with pride. "Now, you're going to help us out."

"I'm not going to do anything," Stiles snapped. He spit out a mouthful of blood.

"You will help us or I will kill one of your friends."

Stiles smirked at that. He smirked because Peter thought he could kill them. Just because he'd been kidnapped didn't mean that his friends were weak. He believed that this would make them stronger. It had to. Because if any of his friends had been kidnapped he would fight until whatever end awaited him to get them back.

Stiles wriggled in his bonds. They were tight. His wrists burned from the rope cutting in to them. Where are you Scott, he wondered.

Peter tilted his head to the side.

"I'm going to kill you," he said.

Stiles believed him. Not a single word held an inch of emotion. Stiles swallowed hard.

"But, not just yet. I have to wait until Erica finds you, then I'll kill you. I want her to watch. Your best friend, too."

Peter stood up. His form towered over Stiles, eclipsing the lights.

"For now, we have fun."

There was a lot of hitting, especially from Jackson. With every punch, he muttered something. Stiles couldn't catch any of it. What neither of the dumb werewolves saw was Stiles pulling on his bonds. They had loosened some. But, they didn't loosen enough for him to get free. He still wasn't sure what he would do once free. There wasn't exactly a good go-to for weapons. There was a hockey stick in the corner. A toolbox up on one of the shelves. Nothing that would do much good against Peter and Jackson.

His cheek was swollen and the taste of blood filled his mouth. He wasn't sure, but one of is molars felt loose. His head fell back and the brightness of the fluorescent light made his eyes water.

"Don't give out on me so soon," Peter groaned.

Grabbing a hank of Stiles's hair, he yanked his head up roughly. Stiles let out a grunt, his Adam's apple bobbing.

"Where's that spirit I keep hearing about? Hmm?" Peter grinned a white, toothy smile.

"Screw you," Stiles spat between gritted teeth.

"Ohhh," Peter sang, looking up at Jackson. He stepped back. "You know what? You go ahead. I have…matters to attend to."

He nodded at Jackson and then turned and walked out the side door.

"You're sick, you know that?" Stiles shouted after the demented alpha. "Killing your own pack. Your own family!"

The door slammed behind Peter. Stiles turned to Jackson who was advancing on him slowly, obviously contemplating what he wanted to do to Stiles. It was creepy. He looked at him like he was a toy…a dog toy; one that he was going to enjoy ripping apart.

Stiles wrangled in his chair now ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his body from the beatings. He had to get out and now. Yanking too hard to the right, Stiles fell sideways and a surge of pain shot up his arm through his shoulder, but the chair broke. He was free.

He moved as fast as he could, scrambling on his hands and feet toward the same door Peter left through. Jackson was faster. He grabbed Stiles by the shoulders and threw him backwards. Stiles slid on his back, but was on his feet instantly. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping him upright. Otherwise, he'd be out cold…unconscious…finite.

He couldn't go out like that though. Nope. Not happening. He was getting to that door.

Jackson's eyes glowed threateningly. He glanced around and stopped at the broken chair. He picked up one of the broken pieces. It was splintered pointy at one end. Stiles still didn't feel good about being up against Jackson. The guy was a complete douche, but…never mind. The asshole was going down.

Jackson laughed.

"You're going to poke me with a stick. This'll be good." He laughed some more.

People seriously needed to stop underestimating Stiles. But, then again, it was always entertaining to see those looks of surprise and disbelief when he proved them wrong,

Instinct took over and Stiles swung. He'd seen Erica, Boyd and Brett training a couple of times. Stiles knew that he couldn't pull of half of the moves they could do, but there were a few he could. As Jackson came at him, swinging his fists, Stiles ducked just in time and slid right under the teen's bulky arm, swinging the wooden chair leg. He nailed him in the back of the knee. The hit was enough to make Jackson's legs cave. Stiles didn't stop there. These guys were quick. He reared the chair leg back and pierced Jackson in the shoulder with it. A loud roar came from deep down in Jackson's chest. He slumped forward.

Stiles didn't look back. Pulling the door open, he ran out into the dark, empty neighborhood. Houses were dark and the street lamps lit the night in a glowing haze. Though his feet ached and his side ached with every short breath, he kept running. He didn't look back to see if Jackson was chasing him. But, if he was, Stiles knew that he'd be dead by now.

It wasn't until he was on the other side of town, in his own neighborhood that he slowed down. He spun around at every small sound. Mostly it was a stray cat that was following him. It moved from a bush to the pole of a nearby lamp and slithered around a recycling bin, but the silver furred creature never got close enough for him to pet it.

Once home, Stiles locked the front door and leaned against it for support. Finally stopping, he could feel the aching, bruising pain even worse now. His lip had quit bleeding, but his eye was swelling up. His heart still rattled in his chest, banging against his ribs like pinball. He knew that somehow it was going to feel even worse tomorrow.

The house was scary quiet. His dad probably wasn't home. He was out looking for him more than likely. Taking the stairs one at a time, very slowly, he made his way toward his room. He stopped in the doorway at seeing the Sheriff staring around his bedroom hopelessly terrified. He was home.

"Dad?"

The Sheriff spun, and looking at Stiles as if unable to process that he was actually standing there, he grabbed Stiles roughly into a hug.

"Dad, it's okay. The other team thought it would be funny to pull a stupid prank," Stiles said, but the words sounded fake. He held onto his dad tightly.

It hadn't crossed his mind that he might not have seen him again or seen any of his friends again. The thought never happened until now as he felt his dad shake with a silent sob. He kept telling him he was alright; it was another lie.


	14. Chapter 14

**I'm glad there is such love and support for this story. Be sure to keep those reviews coming. I do love hearing from you guys.**

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Chapter 14

Stiles sat at his desk in his room. His lip stung from having split open again. His cheek wasn't feeling much better. It burned from Jackson's nasty punch. All in all, he felt like shit. With his pencil between his fingers, he smacked it on his notebook to a fast rhythm on a crisp, clean page. There was homework to be done. It was due tomorrow. Still, the piece of paper was still blank. All he could think about coming face to face with Peter.

There was a light knock on the door. Stiles turned in his chair as the door opened slowly with a whine. It was his dad.

"There's somebody here to see you," he said lightly.

He backed up and walked off, and Erica stopped in the doorway. Her eyes glistened and she couldn't look at him directly.

I know I look rough, but I didn't think it was that bad, Stiles thought.

"Stiles…" she uttered in a breath. She didn't move from the doorway and Stiles didn't move from his chair, not for a long while.

"I told my dad that it was just the other team pulling a prank. Apparently," he motioned to his face, only one corner of his lips pulling up into that funny grin, "it went wrong."

Erica's lips parted, but no words came out. She was stuck. Stiles managed a thoughtful nod and tossed his pencil onto his notebook. He leaned back in his chair, making it squeak, and folded his hands in his lap.

"Let's not act like I'm dead," he smarted off with a snort.

"This isn't funny. You could've been killed!" She exclaimed. She came into the room, slamming the door shut.

Stiles was up on his feet now, but he didn't move from his spot. He didn't know what to say. He couldn't even think up a half decent sentence. The heart-aching look on her face, it was exactly what Peter hoped for. And it killed Stiles. His chest hurt at seeing her so upset.

"I wish you would take this a little more seriously," she said.

"Serious…you want serious?" Stiles closed the space between them quickly and quietly. "Do you honestly think that this was to hurt me!? This wasn't to hurt _me!_ "

The words came out harsh and cold as he pointed at his cut cheek that was surrounded by a dark purple bruise. Erica flinched under them. As a powerful werewolf she was just a girl now, looking at him helplessly. At realizing his own sudden rage, Stiles backed up, still breathing hard, but his shoulders slumped. She knew what he meant with what he said; that the beating was done to him to hurt her. Looking away, he reached out and put his arm around her neck and pulled her forward. He hugged her tightly. Erica's body shook as she cried, holding him tightly around his torso.

He moved them over to his bed where they sat down on the edge. She didn't pull away from him. They sat like that for little while. Erica stopped crying. Stiles liked holding her, so he didn't let go. She was warm and smelled rustic, like the woods. It must've been where she'd gone out searching for him. He inhaled deeply, taking it in again. His ribs still hurt, but he didn't care. He was glad she was here. Because by being here she was safe.

She fell asleep after a little while. Stiles, though rather comfortable and content, didn't. He stared up at the ceiling and then eventually got up and went downstairs where he found his dad sitting at the kitchen table. His chin rested in his hand as he scanned over a mountain of files. Stiles noted that they were the ones from the murders. Stiles swallowed down the urge to tell him who the murderer, or rather, murderers were; they were Peter and Jackson. But then there'd be several questions and Stiles wouldn't have any answers, not logical ones anyway.

"What are you doing up?" The Sheriff's voice was raw and filled with exhaustion. He rubbed his eyes.

"Couldn't sleep," Stiles said.

"Is Erica still here?"

Stiles nodded as he sat down in the chair beside him.

"She fell asleep. I didn't want to wake her," Stiles said. His eyes grazed over the papers within view.

"Stiles, there's something I need to tell you," the Sheriff said next. He was thoughtfully silent then. Stiles waited for him to speak. Each second felt like a long minute because those words usually entailed something dreadfully despair, and he could do without that. "It's about Boyd."

Stiles's eyebrows furrowed, pressing together. Boyd? Quiet, stoic, super nonchalant because I-really-don't-care Boyd?

"A few nights ago, when you all fell asleep on the couch. I was calling everyone's parents so that they didn't have to worry about their kids missing all night."

"Okay…"

"Boyd's number isn't real. When I looked into it I found this."

Stiles looked down at the newspaper clippings that he slid toward him. The headline was for the death of two parents, Boyd's parents.

"There's more…" Stiles flipped through the clippings as his dad spoke.

Brett's parents' death was here, too. Their house had gone up in flames. Just like the Hale house. And, Erica's dad. All three of them lived within the same area, too, and then came here. Stiles knew they'd shared tragedy, but not like this.

"Okay…" It was all Stiles could muster. It was a lot of information all at once.

"I wanted you to know because I have to call child authorities to let them know."

"What? About what?" Stiles exclaimed, coming out of his stunned stupor.

"Boyd cannot live on the street by himself."

"Like I almost did?"

Stiles and the Sheriff turned. Isaac leaned against the doorframe. His eyes were cloudy with sleep. He scratched the top of his head. The Sheriff sighed and rubbed his chin.

"I don't know what you want me to do."

"Dad, if he ends up in the system it could be bad."

Real bad. A teen wolf in the system. Boyd would run away so quick, it'd be like he never even entered the system. That was just all around bad, especially with Peter and Jackson wanting to hunt all of them down.

Stiles suddenly thought about school, which was tomorrow. Jackson would be there. His side pricked painfully.

The Sheriff sighed, exhausted.

"What do you suggest I do, let him come live with us?"

Isaac and Stiles shared a look. It wasn't a bad idea. That meant the pack would be a little more close together. Stiles felt comforted by the idea actually, and the Sheriff could tell.

"Oh no. No, Stiles," he said firmly.

Stiles didn't anything, but pursed his lips together and shrugged. The Sheriff squirmed, feeling Stiles arguing even though he wasn't saying a word. It was all in the way Stiles looked at him. Isaac being on his side didn't help. The Sheriff was going to cave.

"Where would we even put him?" The Sheriff shook his head.

"He can bunk with me. It isn't a problem," Isaac said quickly.

The Sheriff looked back down at the newspaper clippings.

"What the hell…I'll talk to the boy tomorrow," The Sheriff said.

Stiles gave a short nod and went upstairs, patting Isaac's shoulder along the way. He slept on the floor that night. He didn't want to leave Erica alone.

Several things happened at school on Monday. Rumors about Stiles's disappearance were floating around school. Lydia actually _talked_ to him, saying, in so many words, that she was glad that he didn't die from what the other lacrosse team did to him—which was the story; the other lacrosse team they played against had kidnapped him and kicked the crap out of him. He was too stunned to get out a response. The best he mustered was a pathetic squeak to which Isaac rolled his eyes at.

Stiles and Scott were back to normal, almost. It would never be the same, but they were making strides in getting back to what semblance of a friendship they had. Scott was his best friend. Stiles couldn't just give that up, but obviously they had some new things to work past, and it was time to work on them. And do it before Peter killed them all.

Jackson was at school, but he was a good actor. He didn't attack Stiles or any of them. It was too public. That's what it was, which proved that Jackson wasn't completely stupid. He knew better than to wolf out. That didn't stop his threats which had increased from _I'm going kick your ass at practice today_ to _I'm going to rip you apart with my teeth_.

So there was that, too.

The Sheriff had talked to Boyd the other day. Stiles still thought about what he told him regarding the exchange. Boyd had the option of staying in the Stilinski household or in the system. Boyd didn't like either choice and that was evident when Boyd was more quiet and stoic than usual. Strangely, that was possible. He caved. And though he didn't show it, as if ever showed much emotion outside of boredom, he was happy.

It was at lunchtime that things took an entertaining turn. Stiles sat with Scott and Allison, and then Erica, Brett, Boyd and Isaac sat with them followed by Lydia, Danny and…Jackson. It was a full lunch table. Literally. Stiles stared up and down the rectangle table. He wasn't the only who thought this was strange. Danny looked at the lot of them. His eyebrows were pulled together and he just shrugged.

Erica sat beside him and gave a smile, knowing exactly how awkward this was. Stiles had been hoping to talk about Peter, but that was impossible now. Lydia mindlessly talked on about God knows what. Stiles wasn't fully paying attention to her. He was listening to Erica.

"I figure I'd-well, we'd," she nudged Brett on her other side, "come over after school."

"Sure." He nodded.

She smiled once more and he saw her cheeks warm, a light pink coloring her cheeks. He'd never done that to a girl before. He'd made them turn green and cringe with disgust or annoyance, but never this. His heart panged just once, but it was enough.

Mr. Harris's class. He wished he didn't remember much about this class, but he kept receiving long hard looks from the teacher. It was uncomfortable and Stiles kept wondering if there was something on his face. Even Scott noticed. His brows scrunched together, creating a frown in his forehead.

The lesson felt longer than the usual ones where Mr. Harris would sneer about how his students were morons in a subtle way. Every second felt like one long, excruciating minute. Stiles had to fight the urge to groan from the intense boredom. His notes had strayed into doodles.

"Mr. Stilinski," Mr. Harris said at the end of class as students filed out of the classroom. "I need to speak with you."

Scott paused in the doorway, sharing a look with Stiles. Alarms were going off in his head, screaming at him to book it out of there. Mr. Harris had held him after class before, but this felt different. Stiles just gave a nod for him to go on ahead.

Mr. Harris got up from his seat and closed the door on Scott.

"You know," Mr. Harris started. His whole tone shifted. His usual disdain was gone. He leaned on his desk. "There is a lot in this town that people don't know about. What do you know, Stiles?"

Mr. Harris never called him by his first name before. Stiles sucked in a breath, keeping his composure steady and calm.

"Uh…" Stiles scratched the top of his head. Playing dumb was all he had. It wasn't all that difficult either.

"So you're telling me that you have no idea about the murders being related to the increase in werewolf activity?" Mr. Harris's eyebrows rose.

Stiles's mind blanked.

"The what?"

The corner of Mr. Harris's lips twitched up into a smirk. That was the reaction he was hoping for from Stiles. He brushed his hair back with his hand.

"I know, Stiles."

He knew. Everything. Stiles's mouth hung open. His brain stuttered in trying to form a sentence.

"You know…Not sure what that means for me," he said finally.

"I know Peter. We actually used to be friends back in high school. What if I told you I could help you with your problem?"

Stiles gave a short laugh. How was he supposed to reply to this? This was like being told werewolves exist all over again.

"Problem…right. Look, I don't know-"

"I understand your inadequacy in my classroom, but do not presume stupidity on the supernatural that resides in our town, half of which are your friends."

Stiles paced away from the teacher's desk, down the row of desks and turned around, taking all of this sudden information in. Mr. Harris knew about _everything_. The act was pointless now. Stiles shifted on his feet.

"Okay, so you say you know, but what do you know, huh?"

"Over the summer, I received a visit from a …an acquaintance." Mr. Harris was quiet right them. His eyes softened as if living through a horrible memory. He tensed in his shoulders. "Derek Hale. It was not long after that he died."

"Peter killed him," Stiles snapped.

"I know," he said, quiet and without any hint of narcissism. "I know. He wants to kill all of you. There's no reasoning. He's not the guy I knew in high school. Derek was a good kid."

"I didn't know Derek. I've only heard stories about him and his family. Right now, I have to protect the girl that I think I have a crush on because She is trying to take care of the pack. That's what we…emissaries do right? We try to help."

"Do you think Peter knows?" Mr. Harris asked.

"That I have a thing for Erica? Yeah—" The deadpanned look on the teacher's face stopped Stiles from finishing. He meant about him being the emissary. " Yeah, he knows I'm the emissary. He knows everything. It feels like he's just biding his time."

"Well…Homecoming is approaching. We'll figure something out then." He started gathering his papers. "Study harder and try not to get yourself killed."

Mr. Harris left him with that. Stiles stood there for a little while longer, rubbing his finger over some writing on one of the desks, wondering if that conversation just happened. It was weird. The late bell rang, snapping him out of it and he ran to his final class.

So, yeah, it was an entertaining day.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you for the reviews and favorites. I'm always glad to see new readers taking an interest. Please leave a review. Let me know what you think. Heck, tell me what your favorite part is.**

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Chapter 15

The locker room was nearly empty. The last of the players were leaving as Stiles was finishing putting his lacrosse gear away. He sat down on the worn bench. He'd been thinking a lot. Over the last couple of weeks everything had been calm. Too calm. Quiet even. But, that wasn't what was worrying him completely.

Leaving the locker room with his gym bag on his shoulder, he faltered in step t seeing Erica out by his car. His heart panged, but with delight at seeing her. Her hair was up in a fluffy ponytail. She was wearing it up more often and she'd ditched her black leather jacket. He'd given her rides home most days. It became a common thing for the two of them. Boyd and Isaac either took the bus or went with them, but they must've taken the bus today since they weren't with her. That was good.

With each step towards his car, he felt his heart pound harder against chest, and thrumming in his ears. He tossed his gym into the backseat and as he closed the door he turned to Erica. She smiled brightly at him like she always did when she saw him. It was a split of a second and he didn't even think. He just did it because he didn't need to think about it. He her face in his hands and kissed her.

He kissed her and it was nervous at first. She was completely still and her lips didn't completely meet his until he moved his against hers, deepening it. Then it was soft, and right, and exactly how he was hoping it would be. She relaxed and he relaxed, like this wasn't their first kiss. That they kissed all the time. There wasn't any tongue. He didn't want to push his luck.

There weren't stars or anything like that, but he did feel like he wasn't on the ground. His knees weren't going to buckle, but he liked this floaty feeling. He liked kissing her. He'd never felt bravery. He was usually the person who turned and ran from any and everything just about. He didn't run from this though.

Once he pulled away, he didn't say a word. He just turned and got in the Jeep. Luckily the door handle didn't stick and the door opened on the first pull. As he sat there, waiting for her to get in, his mind spun really fast and the beat of his heart was really loud in his head.

"I really did that," he mumbled. He bit his lower lips. He could still feel the kiss there. It tingled.

He did something else, too, that he didn't expect. When she got in and settled without saying a word, but blushing furiously much to Stiles's pleasure, he took her hand, interlinking their fingers. Though things felt rocky and scary right now, both because he'd really just done that and because she was in serious danger, this felt right. He wasn't thinking about Lydia or the future he wished he could have with her like he'd been doing for the last eight years. He was thinking about the girl he'd just kissed. As ridiculous as it was, Erica saw him, looked at him the way Lydia looked at Jackson, and he couldn't deny that he'd started to have feelings for her. He didn't fully understand what those feelings meant, but he could wing it…sorta.

He drove her home.

"I have something for you," he said as he fished a medium size jar filled with black sand from his bookbag. "It's mountain ash. It's supposed to repel supernaturals. I figure if Peter or Jackson come around you can create a circle and call us. Isaac, Boyd and Brett have some, too."

"Oh," she said, staring at the jar. "Yeah, thanks."

"Look-" his words caught in his throat. "I'd never thought," he paused, taking a breath, "I never thought of you that way. It's always been-"

"Lydia Martin?" Her eyebrows rose, amused. "Yeah, I gathered that."

"And then, we've been hanging out a lot and—" Erica gave his hand a squeeze that sent a tingly surge up his arm, which quieted him instantly.

"You don't have to tell me, okay? It's alright."

"I don't think you get it. My whole world has changed since we met, since I found out everything."

Erica frowned.

"It's changed for the better. Granted, I get in a lot more trouble and I'm nearly getting myself killed every week; I'm okay with it." His eyes were narrowed. He wasn't sure if he was getting his point across.

"Stiles." She turned his head so that he had to look at her. His heart still pounded loudly in his ears. He tried to breathe steadily. All of this nervousness only made Erica laugh softly. She found joy in making people feel awkward and nervous. She kissed him this time, soft and slow. The tip of her tongue played on his lips only for the briefest moment, teasing him and making him want to kiss her even more. "Thank you."

"Th-th…yeah," he stuttered. Erica left him there, flustered, and went into her house.

Stiles didn't go home. He drove downtown into the more luxurious district where Allison lived with her dad, Chris. Nobody knew, but he'd gone to see him a couple times. Allison was right. Though, Chris was blunt and even harsh about surpernaturals—probably from personal experience—he and his daughter didn't hunt them. They had this motto. Stiles heard it in the first ten minutes of meeting the man. _We protect others who cannot protect themselves._

Chris was teaching him a couple things that Deaton couldn't teach him. How to protect himself. What could kill supernaturals. He knew a lot from what Deaton had told him, but there different things that Chris knew and Deaton didn't. The amount of notes that Stiles had from both of them were overwhelming. He could make his own textbook. Going to see them was almost like going to Hogwarts. Today, Chris was talking to him about materials, like silver, iron, steel, and what they did to help against opponents.

Stiles didn't like guns. When it came down to it he liked a simple blade. Chris was showing him how to release the clip of the gun and how to turn on the safety. Being Stiles, it was a good idea to know where the safety was, especially after he fumbled and dropped the gun after being handed it. Chris also agreed that guns were not for him. Throwing stars however, had potential.

"Practice your passes and scores more," Chris instructed, meaning lacrosse practice.

Stiles frowned that he couldn't practice with the stars more, then again, he understood. He wasn't that good at lacrosse…at all.

After releasing and putting the clip back in the gun so many times that his fingers cramped, Chris allowed Stiles to take a break. But, he quizzed him. He was harsher than Deaton as if every answer was life and death. While it was frustrating, Stiles understood it. That short time with Peter and Jackson showed him that this was life and death.

Stiles was twirling a throwing star carefully between his fingers, staring at it. Did these things do any real damage? Werewolves healed quickly. And Oni, which he just discovered, could only be destroyed by silver. Those things were terrifying, too, from the way Chris described them. Seriously haunting. What would a tiny metal projectile do?

"Are you okay?" Stiles looked up. Chris stared at him intensely.

"Yeah," Stiles replied, faintly.

"You're wondering if you're making any difference aren't you?"

Stiles nodded. He couldn't stop thinking about it. He was a measly human. Completely fleshy and mortal.

"You've kept these kids together. That's a big difference. Scott and Isaac would be dead if you didn't try to help them. And, the other three? Peter would've gotten to them," Chris said, patting him on the shoulder.

It did fill Stiles with a small sense of validation, but what about the people that Peter and Jackson killed? He couldn't help those people.

"Nobody can save everybody, Stiles. You help your pack. That's what matters."

Stiles nodded. He could help Erica. That was the point of all this. She was in the most danger. Thinking about her made his heart quicken. He put the throwing star down.

After the lesson, if that's what you could call it, Chris allowed Stiles to take the stars. Though they were tiny, he explained, their edges had been dipped in wolfsbane. That made Stiles smirk. That would certainly make a dent in a wolf. That and the stash he had behind his nightstand. Stiles didn't sling the stars around at home and stuck to lacrosse practice since it'd be hard to explain holes in the walls to his dad.

Luckily, Isaac and Scott were there to help during practices.

Scott caught another ball and Stiles groaned. He wasn't getting any past either of them and his arms ached so much that they running on sheer adrenaline. They'd been staying late after practice every day since Stiles's abduction.

"You keep cheating!" Stiles whined.

The catch-net end of his lacrosse stick fell and thumped to the ground softly.

"I'm dead," he groaned.

His shoulders slumped and he let his head fall back. The sky was blindingly grey, making him squint. All of this practice and he felt like he was no better at this than before. If anything he was worse.

"So, you and Erica, huh?" Isaac said. He focused on the ball that he was tossing up and catching. Stiles resisted a dog joke.

"Uh, yeah? I think." Sitles's face scrunched as his head fell to one side. He didn't know how to approach the subject. He just knew that he kissed her and that was that. It was a great kiss.

Scott chuckled.

"You know, Jackson just broke up with Lydia," Scott commented. "Allison told me about it."

Stiles froze completely, like a movie put on pause. His eyes were wide. Why was he just finding out now? Isaac and Scott looked at one another and then Isaac waved his hand in front of Stiles's face. Still nothing.

"I think you broke him," Isaac laughed.

"Really?" Stiles said right then, making Isaac jump like a scared cat. "Why would he do that?"

He meant Jackson.

"Allison told me that Lydia said, I quote, _he wanted to drop the dead weight_ ," Scott said.

"What an asshole," Stiles said. He wanted to be affected. He wanted to swell with excitement. Lydia was single. He'd been waiting for this day like the second coming. But nothing was coming. "I hope she'll be alright."

Isaac turned him to face him and craned his head low so that he was looking him in the eyes. Then he moved his head side to side.

"I don't see any sign of concussion," Isaac told Scott. Stiles shoved him off.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw something. It was fast and flying right at him. His arm flew up automatically. The ball that was aimed for his face landed in the net of the lacrosse stick easily. Stiles stared at it for a long pause, impressed at his reflexes. It's probably just luck, he thought.

" _That's_ why we're out here," Scott said. "We aren't here to help you get stronger or faster than us."

"That's impossible," Isaac chimed in, bearing a smartass grin, tilting his chin up confidently.

"But your reflexes? Those will help you see something coming and react before you end up in trouble."

Stiles looked at the ball in his net again. It was a pretty good catch.

After the long day, Stiles was glad to relax comfortably on the couch. He taped an ice pack around each shoulder. They ached terribly. Every movement sent a ripping pain through his muscles. Isaac and Boyd had gone to hang out with Brett. Dad wasn't home. Stiles had the whole house to himself.

He relaxed his head back, letting his whole body sink into the well-worn cushions. He watched out the front window from where he sat. The sun had gone down, leaving behind a glowing orange that was fading into lavender and then night sky blue. The quiet almost let him fall asleep. The sudden knock at the door kept him from doing so. Sighing, he got up and dragged his feet as he went to the door. He brightened up at seeing it was Erica. He smiled and his heart thudded against his chest like it did when he'd kissed her.

"Stiles," she said.

Her lips were pressed into a thin, distressed line. He tried to meet her eyes, but she would do anything but. She swallowed hard.

"What's wrong?" Stiles frowned.

"I'm so sorry," she managed.

Stiles looked at her with confusion now. Sorry? Why did she need to be sorry? Her eyes glistened with tears. She opened her mouth to speak, but didn't have a chance. An arm came from the side and relaxed over her shoulders and around her neck and Jackson came into view, smirking with vivid cobalt eyes. Stiles's eyes widened. He didn't know what to feel as he stared between the two of them.

"Shit."


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you, lovelies. The favorites and reviews are quite welcome. Do keep reviewing. I always appreciate those who tell me what they think.**

 **Here's your brand new chapter.**

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Chapter 16

Jackson, with a tight grip on Erica's neck, yanking her by her hair, he pushed her inside. Stiles caught her and stepped aside quickly. Jackson clicked his tongue as he came in, looking at the two of them with a dirty smirk. He gestured between the two of them with his hand.

"You two? I never would've guessed it." He pointed at Stiles now. Stiles gulped. "See, I thought you would've taken your shot with Lydia the moment you found out she was free. But maybe you finally realized that she's never going see you…at all. So you moved on to a second choice."

Jackson looked over at Erica who sat on the edge of the comfy chair now. His eyebrows flicked up once. She didn't look away from Stiles. Her chest moved fast in panicked breaths.

"Screw you," Stiles bit out.

Jackson smiled at that, impressed at the amount of backbone Stiles showed. Stiles didn't give an inch. His jaw was clenched tight. He didn't like Jackson. The guy was an all-out asshole, but this went beyond that. He was a killer, a murderer. How could he want this?

"Why?" Stiles said stiffly. "How did you become _this_?"

"It was easy really." Jackson said, cockily. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, searching for the right place to start.

 _There had been rain pelting the locker room windows rapidly. It was dark outside as Jackson was finishing up his shower in the locker room. The entire school was empty now. He'd stayed after lacrosse practice to work on his technique some more._

 _His muscles ached as he took the towel from around his neck and dried off his hair and then got dressed._

 _"It's not satisfying, is it?"_

 _Jackson jumped and spun around. His heart pounded in his chest from the sudden scare. His breathing calmed. The stranger, a man, who stood at the door, was well groomed. His dark hair was combed back and his eyes were piercing like a knife. His black trench coat nearly brushed the floor by his matching combat boots._

 _"Who the hell are you?" Jackson demanded._

 _"Who I am is…unimportant. Ask me what I can do to help you. It's obvious that you want to be the best at whatever it is you high schoolers do these days." The man waved his hand at Jackson._

 _Jackson looked around the dank room. Was this guy for real? A real creep. Sighing with irritation, the dark haired man shook his head, making it obvious that he didn't have time for this._

 _"Lacrosse," Jackson told him._

 _"It was basketball in my day."_

 _Jackson wasn't sure if he was about to be murdered or not. There was nobody in the school to help him either. The rain that pelted the windows grew louder as if increasing to the moment of his imminent death._

 _"What do you mean help me?" Jackson dared ask even though it was stupid to humor him._

 _"What if I told you I could change your life? What if you could be better than Scott McCall?"_

 _Jackson's jaw clenched. Scott McCall. Somehow the outcast had managed to come out of loserdom and turn into the shining star of the team. Thinking about it more and more made Jackson burn with fury. Why did that idiot have to take the one thing Jackson had for himself? Couldn't have taken something else? He could've avoided trying to take his captain spot. He could go out for another team._

 _The man smiled and it made a chill creep down Jackson's arms. The hairs stood on end painfully. It was sly and mischievous and dangerous. He suddenly thought about the murders that had happened over the last couple of days. Jackson took a couple of uneasy steps away from the stranger. His eyes changed right then and glowed a terrifying red._

 _"What the hell?"_

 _Jackson was entranced by them more than he was scared. What was this guy? The man only chuckled at his reaction. What kind of game was he playing at?_

 _"Don't be afraid, Jackson."_

 _Surprisingly, Jackson wasn't afraid._

 _"What kind of changes?" He still couldn't believe he was contemplating this. It was crazy. This guy was crazy. But still, in his gut, he could feel that he wasn't lying. He seriously believed that he could do something for him._

 _"How about being stronger, faster, being able to hear more clearly. Need I go on?"_

 _"And you know how to give this all to me?" Jackson humored him with a belittling smirk._

 _"Of course, though it does come at a cost. I can't simply give away a gift like this."_

 _The man looked at his nails as if he had dirt stuck underneath them. His eyebrows flickered up once, waiting for Jackson._

 _Jackson looked at his locker where his jersey hung along with the rest of his gear. He reached out and touched the net of his lacrosse stick. What he said sounded too good to be true. There was nothing that could help him become any of those things. Nonetheless, he couldn't deny that to have all of that sounded tempting._

 _Jackson shook his head. He wasn't stupid. This was stupid._

 _"You're trying to sell me drugs or whatever it is that you think gives you superpowers? No thanks. I don't take candy from strangers. I'm not that stupid."_

 _"Your incredible amount of morality is both endearing and annoying. It reminds me of my late nephew."_

 _Jackson sneered._

 _"If it helps easy your petty mind, my name is Peter."_

 _It didn't. Jackson still wasn't sure about this quack-job. After all, he approached him in the boy's locker room. His eyes narrowed. Peter smiled at this and Jackson saw that his teeth were more pointed like a dog's teeth. What was he? Was this what made him stronger and faster?_

 _With Peter's impatience obviously growing, Jackson needed to think fast. His heart beat against his chest faster and faster._

 _"Relax, Jackson. I'm not going to kill you, if_ that's _what you're worried about," Peter said. "I just want to help."_

"And, from there I ended up here, which isn't too bad," Jackson said, scrunching his nose at them. "I can't understand

Stiles resisted the urge to gag about how weird it was that Peter creeped on him in the locker room.

"How have you been staying hidden then?" Stiles asked. "How come we haven't found out until now?"

It was a valid question. Nobody had noticed that he was a werewolf at all. Everything was seemingly normal. Scott, Isaac and Brett never noticed and they had the super-senses.

"Peter is a good alpha. He showed me how to keep my abilities under control just enough that not even a werewolf would catch on to me."

Jackson glimpsed at Erica who bared her teeth at him angrily. Her hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly, her claws sinking into the plush fabric.

"So what are you doing here then?" Stiles asked after that longwinded story.

Jackson thought about it and then grinned wide and with a lot of sharp teeth.

"I'm going to kill you, but before that I'm going to torture you." He lit up like a Christmas tree.

Stiles ran cold and he saw the color in Erica's face slacken and drain of that beautiful ivory to stark, death white.

"It'll be kind of hard to make it look like an animal attack if you kill us here. Also, Isaac and Boyd could be back at any time since they live here now," Stiles said. He could barely hear himself speak over the loud pounding of his heart in his ears.

Jackson looked around the living room, thinking about it. It was long enough that Stiles stole a look with Erica. He could tell that she wasn't only sitting idly by, scared. She was waiting. He just didn't know what for.

"You're right," Jackson said with a nod. "But, that doesn't mean I still can't torture you. And, I will."

He looked at Erica.

"I'll kill her. And…you'll watch." He let out a short, quiet scoff. "I never liked you. You're annoying. So when I was told that I could be the one to kill you? Well…" Jackson shrugged. "I was a little excited."

He moved fast for Erica, but Stiles stepped in the way quickly without thinking. It was more feeling anyway. Jackson wasn't getting to Erica. Stiles narrowly dodged his attack. Jackson's claws sliced through the air. Stiles charged without a second thought, aiming lo, colliding his shoulder with Jackson's torso, and tackled him to the wall. Erica was up and already in action. As Stiles reared back, she threw a punch that whooshed past his head and hit Jackson across the jaw. Jackson went down hard, but he sprang up to his feet unfazed. Crazy mischief lit his eyes. He growled at the pair, his muscles tensing, making the veins there bulge.

Stiles felt all of his muscles freeze. He didn't have time to react when Jackson reached out, smacking Erica by the face and then grabbed Stiles by the throat.

"Did you honestly think you stood a chance against me?" Jackson scoffed.

"No," Stiles wheezed out of his closed off windpipe. "But my best friend is another story."

Jackson's eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Hey, asshole."

Jackson turned his head right as a tightly clenched fist came flying at him, knocking him sideways. Stiles coughed as air rushed through his airways, filing his lungs. Scott patted him on the back. Allison stood off to the side with a small crossbow in hand that was pointed at Jackson.

"Are you guys okay?" Scott asked. He looked from Stiles to Erica.

All of her focus was on Stiles. Her face was filled with helplessness and guilt that she had allowed Jackson to drag her over here and threaten him.

"Fine," Stiles croaked. He panted, like a runner out of breath. "Great."

He gave a wavering thumbs-up. He moved to Erica and gently caressed over her reddened cheek. She was bothered. He tried to meet her eyes, smiling to show that everything was okay, nobody was hurt. Not seriously anyway.

"Everyone's okay," he told her.

Jackson growled from behind him.

"Oh, shut up," Stiles snapped.

"What do we do with him?" Scott wondered.

"Take him to Eichen," Stiles said.

Erica and Allison turned. Both of them and Scott bore screwy looks. The nuthouse? Jackson would escape and probably slaughter every poor soul in the place.

"Eichen?" The three of them spoke simultaneously.


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey! Just popping up to say thank you for the reviews and favorites. Also to remind you that this story isn't mine, I just wrote it. The idea goes to** orionastro

 **Now on with the story. Please leave a reveiw. They certainly make my day no matter whether their good or bad.**

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Chapter 17

Eichen House. Stiles stared up at the old stone building. Though the night was clear and the stars were out, the building was still creepy. It loomed in the night like a tombstone, a very large one. Somewhere in there, there were people-creatures-things that were dangerous. Stiles looked down at his hands and realized that he was gripping the steering wheel tightly. His knuckled were white and he was starting to lose feeling in his fingertips.

"Stiles?"

He turned to Scott who sat beside him. Erica and Allison sat in the back with Jackson in the middle. The werewolf was still out cold, but that didn't keep the girls from being on guard. Allison hadn't taken her crossbow off of him the whole entire ride over.

"Uh, just let me go in first and talk to one of the doctors," Stiles said.

He drummed his thumbs on the wheel, nodded and then got out. His heart pounded loudly in his ears as he entered the building. The lighting was dim, making the walls look yellow rather than white. It made Stiles think of that one story he had to read for class. The one about the lady who was driven crazy because of the wallpaper in her room. _The Yellow Wallpaper_.That was it. He shivered.

He stopped at the front desk. Metal grating ran from the counter to the ceiling, caging in the male nurse that stood behind it.

"Can I help you?" The nurse didn't look up and sounded bored.

"Uh, yeah. I need to talk to a doctor."

The nurse's eyebrows rose, amused. He snorted at the sight of Stiles.

"Really?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. This guy was going to be a jerk. There wasn't time for this.

"Yes, really. I need to have somebody checked in."

The nurse stood up. A cruel grin crept across his already shady features.

"How old are you? You need to be at least eighteen to check-in somebody," he said as he leaned forward against the counter.

"Can I just-"

The nurse cut him off.

"How about you turn around and go home."

Stiles was fuming now. His fists came down on the counter, sending a pang of pain up his arms.

"Just let me talk to a doctor"

"Turn around and leave." Then nurse was firmer, obviously getting annoyed, but not more than Stiles.

"Why don't you turn around and I'll shove my foot-"

"Excuse me. What is going on here?"

They both turned to a man in a white coat and a navy, knit sweater underneath. His hair was also white and combed back. He looked at the nurse with a glare. Stiles smiled at this. Stupid jerk deserved it. The nurse pointed at him.

"I was just trying to-"

"To help this young man?" The doctor scowled. "I'll take it from here."

The nurse grumbled as he went back to the cage he crawled out of. Stiles was glowing on the inside.

"What are you doing here…"

"Stiles. I'm Stiles, sir. And, I need your help." Stiles glanced back at the cage and the open space, "I'm told that this place also holds _special_ patients."

For a second the doctor just stared at him blankly and then he narrowed his eyes. Stiles was beginning to think that Deaton had been talking crazy about this place.

"Are you looking to admit somebody into our care?"

"Y-yes. He's ill. He thinks he's a werewolf," Stiles said, hoping the doctor would understand the hint.

"I see," the doctor replied thoughtfully. "Well, if you could, pull around to the back and we'll get him a room immediately."

Stiles nodded and hurried out of there, forgetting to say thank you. There would be time for that after Jackson was put in his own personal padded room.

Jackson was still out cold when he returned to the car. Nobody had moved and it looked like none of them had talked either. Stiles started up the Jeep and pulled around to the back of the building.

"Help me," he said, nodding to Scott.

Allison kept her crossbow aimed at their fellow classmate. Erica helped carry Jackson after Stiles let out a few struggling grunts. The doctor was waiting on them with a gurney. Once Jackson was on the gurney, he strapped him down.

Stiles fell into step with the doctor. The others fell behind.

"Can you hold him?"

"Of course," the doctor replied. "We have a special unit that is well line with mountain ash."

Stiles nodded as the doctor continued while they made their way toward the secret floor. Stiles and Allison were the only ones who could go up to the secret floor.

After Jackson had been put in his room and it had been decided on how to break it to his parents, Stiles and the others made their way back to the Jeep. Stiles leaned on the hood. Erica stood beside him. He took her hand in his, glad to hold it. She was okay. They all were. And, Jackson was taken care of.

"One down," he mumbled.

"One to go," Erica finished.

She gave his hand a light squeeze.

Stiles dropped everybody off at their homes. It was early when he made through the front door. Isaac was stretched out asleep on the couch. Stiles glanced around, but didn't see Boyd. The house looked fine. Everything that had been bumped or knocked over was fixed. After turning the TV off, Stiles headed up the stairs, but was stopped quickly by Isaac speaking up.

"If you ever decide to go out to try and get yourself killed let me know. I'll help." His voice was a sleepy grumble and he made no move to get up.

Stiles nodded, though Isaac didn't see it, and went up to his room. He didn't sleep at all that night. Tossing Jackson, the captain of the lacrosse team, into Eichen plagued him. Peter was going to be pissed. Who knew what kind of murder binge he'd go on now? Then Stiles remembered. Mr. Harris. Homecoming.

"Shit."

The next day was an exhausting one. Stiles's muscles were sore and his eyes dry and red from lack of sleep. From the looks of it, Scott, Allison and Erica were in the same boat. And, then Lydia sat with them.

"What are you doing after school?" she asked Allison.

"Uh, I don't know." Allison stifled a yawn.

"Good. I'm going dress shopping and I need your opinion."

"Dress shopping? Why?" Allison's head fell to the side.

Lydia froze, staring at her.

"You can't be serious."

Allison's eyes narrowed, still confused. Stiles looked away, scratching his head. He was not getting in the middle of that. He hadn't asked Erica if she wanted to go. Stiles stole a glance at Erica. He'd completely forgotten about it altogether, but Erica didn't seem upset at the mention of dress shopping. As a matter of fact she didn't look bothered at all. She must've had more important things on her mind, like him. Did she even like dances? What if Peter attacked? Stupid thought. Of course he'd attack. It's Homecoming. It's the location for the climatic fight scene. Watch any teen horror movie or action movie. They all have that one scene. Take _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ for example, the movie not show, though the show had quite a few climactic moments, too.

"Homecoming." Lydia said.

Allison's eyebrows rose and her mouth form the perfect O.

"I totally forgot."

Lydia let out a huff and rolled her eyes.

"Well, we're going today after school," Lydia said, without even sounding like it was optionable.

Allison didn't get a chance to object. Scott gave her hand a light squeeze and smiled.

On the way to class after lunch, Stiles stopped Erica by taking her elbow. Her lips curved up into a smile, but he could see the worry reflecting in her eyes, like he was about to break her heart or something worse.

"We're okay right?" She'd barely said a word to him since admitting Jackson to the hospital.

"Of course!" she replied, surprised by the question. "I-"

She sighed.

"I'm just scared. Jackson was going to kill you."

"You think I wasn't? And, he was going to kill you."

"Sounds like a normal Tuesday."

Erica's eyebrows frowned.

"It's Monday."

Stiles shrugged. All of the days felt the same lately. He took her hand and walked her to class, knowing that he was probably going to get detention for being late to his own.

After school, he went to the biology lab. Mr. Harris was still there shuffling papers around on his desk and putting some of them into his brown leather suitcase.

"What do you want?" Mr. Harris said with his usual deflated tone of disappointment.

"Jackson is in Eichen."

Mr. Harris's head shot up.

"What?" He gritted the word out like it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"It's better than him being dead for being in cahoots with Peter. Is cahoots still a word?" Stiles's eyes narrowed to a squint as he began to contemplate it.

"Jackson was the one in league with Peter?" Mr. Harris sighed. Jackson was his favorite student. That wasn't a secret, but it was heartbreaking to discover that Jackson was so impressionable. "Hopefully he will reform."

Stiles snorted.

"And, I'll grow wings. This is Jackson," Stiles said with a flat look.

"And imagine what Peter did to turn him, the psychological damage he's done."

"He didn't have to do anything. Jackson told me everything when he invaded my house to kill me and my girlfriend."

"Hm. I didn't know." Mr. Harris really didn't know. He looked so lost.

"No, you didn't," Stiles said angrily. "He's not the fragile little cherub you thought he was."

"No, I meant you and Miss Reyes. I didn't realize you two were an item," Mr. Harris said.

Stiles stared at the teacher, dumbfounded at the comment. He shook his head.

"I just wanted you to know. I have to go ask Erica to Homecoming now."

Stiles hesitated as he turned to leave. That exchange was strange. He just wanted to update him on the current situation. Steering to Stiles's love life was completely unexpected. Stiles still wasn't sure it had actually occurred.

Erica was by the Jeep, talking to the pack, well, Isaac, Brett and Boyd. Stiles looked around, but didn't see Scott anywhere.

"Coach hauled Scott away," Isaac said.

"Probably to kill him," Brett said, chuckling.

Stiles nodded, staring at Erica. He suddenly wasn't curious about where Scott was off to and why. He had a question to ask, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to ask in front of the guys. They were talking amongst themselves, but that didn't mean they wouldn't tune their wolf ears to him if he asked. That kind of pressure was something he could live without.

Erica's full, green eyes met his and, as if sensing something bothering him, she reached out and took his hand, pulling him to her. He laced his fingers with hers and smiled softly.

"Yo, Scott," Brett called, his hands cupped around his mouth.

The curly haired teen was frowning as he made his way over to them. He stared at the ground with much confusion.

"What's wrong? You look like you're trying to do math," Stiles quipped.

"Coach just made me captain," Scott said after a few seconds of silence. His eyebrows pressed together as he tried to understand the logic of that information.

"Awesome!" Stiles exclaimed, patting him on the back. "That means more playing time for me…I think."

Everyone laughed. Scott still looked uneasy, like he didn't agree with being give the position.

"It's because of Jackson," he said.

"Jackson isn't dead. He's just in a doggy kennel." Stiles reminded him. "Enjoy being the popular guy."

Scott nodded.

"I'm going to go by the hospital and see if mom wants dinner," he said.

"Tell her that I said hi,"

Scott nodded and waved as he made his way to his car. Brett went with him. The pair was becoming better friends. Stiles was glad. He didn't want there to be any barriers between all of them. That left Isaac and Boyd and Erica. Boyd and Isaac were already getting in the Jeep. Erica stared at Stiles, trying to decipher his thoughts.

"What are you thinking," she asked, giving up.

"I am wondering…" he paused. Was there a right way to word the question without sounding stupid or cliché? Simple answer: no. "…if a girl wanted to go to Homecoming with me, but I don't know if she likes dances. I mean, I don't really dance, but it could be fun-"

"Girl says yes, but…" Erica cringed, "girl doesn't have a dress."

Stiles let out a silent chuckle under his breath. The hard part was over. Or was the hard part wondering if they would make it to the dance? Making it through to the end of the night?

Damn it.


	18. Chapter 18

**I just want to say thank you for the support. This story has actually been a favorite of mine and it was a pleasure to write it.**

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Chapter 18

Homecoming approached fast. Stiles only knew because Lydia started talking about it more and more. It was starting to grate Scott and Allison's nerves, but Stiles barely noticed. He'd been too consumed with others things, some of them being Erica and some of them being Isaac and Boyd. While it was great that the two of them were now living with him there was only one and a half baths in the house. It was a lot to get used to, but Stiles didn't regret having them staying at the house. Family wouldn't be family if they didn't annoy you and invade your personal space.

Then there was lacrosse practice. Coach was running everyone harder than usual with the Homecoming game coming up. The aches in Stiles's muscles had aches.

"Stilinski! What is that? Seriously, what is that because I have no idea!" Coach shouted. It was obvious that he was still sore that Jackson had suddenly taken ill. That's the story everybody knew. Jackson was mentally sick so he was staying in Eichen House until he was better.

Sweat trickled down Stiles's temples and stung his eyes. His shirt was soaked through and through. He looked down at the lacrosse stick in his hand, wishing he could put it down, but he couldn't. Literally. His fingers were gripped so tightly around the stick that he could let go. He looked over at Isaac and Scott who were sweating just as much as him. Isaac was bent forward, holding his knees as he caught his breath. He shook his head. Droplets shook free from his hair, sprinkling the grass.

"Lahey, what are you doing!? Did I say stop? No! Get out there!"

Isaac's head bobbed probably thinking it was a nod that he was giving.

Stiles groaned. His ribs had stitches running up each side. His heart hadn't had any time to slow down.

"Can't I just lay down here and die?" Stiles said, wheezing. Sharp pain ran up his sides.

Scott patted him on the back.

"I wish," he replied.

After grueling drills and plays, Coach finally let the team go, but not without voicing his great disappointment in them. Greenberg felt it especially.

After getting a quick, but much needed shower in the grimy and slimy showers, Stiles made his way out to the parking lot. Scott, Brett, and Isaac were with him.

"See you after work?" Scott asked before veering off to his own car.

"Uh, yeah." Stiles didn't know why his brain froze right then.

He climbed into the Jeep, Isaac and Brett climbing in next. Isaac fiddled with the radio like usual as Brett went on about how much he hated the newest edition to Beacon Hills High. Liam…something. Stiles couldn't remember his last name. He was a freshman. Apparently he was a show off in gym class and was planning on trying out for lacrosse next season.

Stiles was tuning most of Brett's complaints out, not wanting to think about next year quite yet, and he noticed that Isaac wasn't trying to think about it either. It was so far away yet. Stiles wasn't even sure that he'd be seeing next year, but he didn't tell anyone else that.

"Thank god," Isaac groaned, following it up with a sigh of relief after dropping Brett off. Stiles laughed. "I like that kid and all, but sometimes he's worse than Lydia."

Isaac mimed a nonstop talking person with his hand.

"Danny doesn't seem to mind," Stiles chuckled.

"So, I've been meaning to ask," Isaac said. "What are we doing for Homecoming?"

"We?" Stiles said, letting out a slight squawk. " _We_ aren't doing anything. _I'm_ taking Erica to the dance because I'm going find some semblance of a normal high school life before I die."

Isaac laughed, holding his side.

" _You_ ," Stiles continued, "need to think about what you're going to do after you graduate. What are you going to do?"

Isaac scratched his temple. He'd been thinking about it. Stiles had spotted a couple college brochures in the living room a couple days ago.

"I-don't know," Isaac admitted.

"You know, any college-goer will tell you that that major is called undecided, which is totally normal," Stiles said, with his trademark goofy smile.

That seemed to loosen Isaac up some. Stiles was glad. Isaac was like the older brother...if he wasn't an only child, but then again family didn't always mean blood.

"College just wasn't something I thought very much about. I was always trying to get from one day to the next. Dad-" Isaac stopped. He didn't need to say more. Stiles got it. When your dad was a jerk, a major, fist throwing jerk, you didn't think about much else.

They pulled up to the house and Erica was sitting on the front porch with Boyd. Both of them were laughing amongst themselves.

"Hey Stiles," Isaac said before either of them got out. Stiles turned to look at him, pausing with his arm over the back of the seat in reach of his backpack. "You're not going to die."

Isaac sounded so sure about it that Stiles believed it.

Homecoming night came faster than Stiles anticipated and the Sheriff took the night off to see his boys off. Stiles was glad. The string of murders

"C'mon! Can't you boys let me get one good photo," the Sheriff whined.

Isaac had Stiles in a headlock and Boyd was on Isaac's back. Each of the young men were wearing a black suit very similar to that of the _Men in Black_. The whole wrestling debacle started when Stiles opened his mouth about the resemblance and then was offended that neither Isaac nor Boyd had seen the movie. From there it just escalated and while it made the Sheriff laugh and he was glad to be here for this, he wanted at least one photo where they weren't strangling one another.

"Boys," he bellowed.

The three of them halted as if having the pause button pressed.

"One normal picture, please," he gritted out. His eyebrows relaxed from the tight tension they had into exasperation.

The three of them snickered as they smoothed down their jackets and gave the goofiest prom pose they could manage before giving a normal one. Boyd and Isaac flanked Stiles. Stiles had never felt so…short. Short and happy. He could see that twinkle in his dad's eye. Pure happiness.

"Now," the Sheriff started after putting away the camera. "Your curfew is midnight. No later. No earlier. And yes, I know that Lydia Martin is having an after party which is why I said midnight."

Isaac smirked and Boyd rolled his eyes. Stiles on the other hand knew it was a gift with there being a town curfew and all. The three of them left to go pick up Erica and Brett. The others were meeting them there.

Erica came out onto the porch when Stiles pulled up to her house. For a long moment the guys just stared at Stiles who stared, completely entranced, at Erica. Her dress stopped just above the knee and flared out with light frou-frou. And the color, it was a light, spring green that reminded him of fairies and _A Midsummer's Night Dream_. The way her hair was up and stray curls lay on her neck and shoulders did too.

"Close your mouth, dipshit," Isaac smarted off.

Stiles fumbled with the door handle and got out of the car. Coming around the car to greet her, he paused and turned, shoving his head through the window way too far, making Isaac lurch back.

"Move," he ordered.

Isaac's brows furrowed and his mouth twisted, insulted.

"But this is my seat," he argued.

"Move!" Stiles snapped.

Isaac rolled his eyes and crawled to the backseat. Boyd struggled not laugh and earned a punch in the shoulder.

Stiles walked up the short staircase and stopped in front of Erica. Her cheeks filled with a warm blush. Stiles was completely stupefied. A ridiculous grin plastered on his face. His hands shook, he was so nervous.

"I wish I could think words," Stiles said in a breath. "But all I keep thinking is wow and that just doesn't seem like enough."

"I like wow," she said.

The small shrug with her shoulders made him smile wider. He offered his hand to her and then helped her into the car, which was awkwardly quiet until Erica spoke up.

"So, bring the wolfsbane?" She looked around, her eyes stopping on Stiles who cracked grin.

"Of course."

Pulling up to Brett's house, the curly-haired blonde came hurrying out while yelling at his baby sister.

"No, you can't come with," he said as if it was the thousandth time.

He hopped in the back forcing Isaac to take the middle seat. Stiles couldn't see anything but him in the rearview mirror. Brett didn't talk about the argument with his family. As they pulled away from the house, Stiles caught a glimpse of Brett's sister. She didn't look that much younger than him. Stiles guessed that she was in middle school.

Colorful party lights pulsated from the gym. The group lingered outside a little while. The silence was strange, not awkward. As if it was their pep talk, their circle. That tonight was going to be fun and not a blood bath.

"Want to dance?" Stiles asked suddenly, looking at Erica.

"That sounds great," she replied, unable to stop smiling.

Taking her hand, his fingers interlocking with hers, he led her inside. He wasn't going to think about imminent death right now. Peter was a lone wolf and if he attacked, Stiles wasn't alone. None of them were. And Stiles wanted to dance with his girlfriend.

Scott and Allison were already on the dance floor, which had been where they'd completed the rock climbing course just six hours earlier.

Stiles wasn't sure where to rest his hands, so he put them at Erica's waist. After a few turns, Erica's gaze strayed. She was searching for Peter.

"Hey." Stiles called her attention back.

"Sorry," she said, guiltily.

"Don't be. We're all on edge."

Erica kissed him, threading her fingers up the nape of his neck and through his hair. When she started to pull back, he kissed her deeper, parting his lips, but nothing more. It was slow and tasted sweet. When he didn't pull back, he rested his forehead against hers and knew that for a moment, they were okay. They were more than okay. Nothing was going to take that away.

"You look amazing," he told her.

She blushed furiously in response.

The beginning of the night went fairly well.

Brett had disappeared at some point. It wasn't until the Homecoming King and Queen were being announced (no surprise that it was Scott and Lydia and also awkward) that Stiles and Erica were frantically looking around for him. Danny had concern wrinkling his forehead as he was scanning the room too. Boyd caught the couples' glances and gave a nod toward the exit. Isaac stayed behind to tell Allison and Scott.

As Stiles and Erica made their way for the doors, he caught Mr. Harris watching them. Stiles ignored the tightening in his gut. The music faded as they made their way down the dark hallways. Shadows of the trees outside shook on the lockers. Couples slinked in the dark corners, giggling and whispering and kissing; Stiles wished that he and Erica were doing these things.

"I have his scent. It's faint," Erica whispered.

Stiles followed her all the way to an empty classroom. Both of them peeked inside cautiously. Stiles's heart beat against his ribs, making the blood rushing in his head sound like heavy white rapids of a river. He was scared.

"Brett!" She exclaimed, her heels clacking as she ran in.

Peter held the young wolf by the throat. A tight-lipped smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Stiles gulped hard.

"Let him go," he demanded.

Peter met Erica's gaze, her eyes glowing with a threat. His responded with a bright, red glow and a wide and evil, toothy grin.

"Okay," Peter replied.

Peter's claws sunk into the teen's throat and ripped across it, like a plow into rich soil. Blood cascaded down the front of Brett's chest, to the floor. Brett reached up, trying to stop it while gasping for air. Choking on his own blood, he collapsed to the floor.

Erica screamed angrily, moving to run at the alpha, but Stiles grabbed her around the waist, "NO!"

The last bit was a choking sob.

Stiles couldn't look away from Brett. His eyes faded, staring out at nothing as a pool of life surrounded him. His blonde hair dyed red. Stiles's eyes blurred, but he dared not to let a single tear fall. Not right now.

"Son of a bitch," Stiles said in a breath. Erica broke out of Stiles's arms and ran to Brett. Stiles felt the small vile in his pocket. It had been there all night, sealed and waiting.

"Did you honestly think that you'd win? That you'd defeat me? I'll kill every single one of you," Peter said with a low, husky growl.

Erica, kneeling at Brett's side, petting his hair, growled at the alpha. All of the magic of her dress was smeared away with blood.

"Now," Peter looked at Stiles. He took slow steps forward. His hot breath, past his sharp, white teeth, reeked, but Stiles didn't move. "You can either help me, or Allison is next. Luring her away was a little more difficult."

Peter stood only a foot away from Stiles now. He smoothed down Stiles's jacket.

"Don't you touch him!" Erica snapped.

"Move, princess, and I _will_ kill him." Peter grabbed a tuft full of hair and yanked hard, jerking Stiles's head to the side. He growled low, showing her his canines.

His breath was hot on Stiles's neck and smelled of flesh. Stile's stomach turned and he focused on breathing through his mouth.

Erica didn't move. A menacing smile spread across Peter's face slowly. He knew he had the power now. He walked out of the classroom, pulling Stiles along by the neck. Stiles grunted, taking a misstep here and there. He focused on the linoleum. Erica's loud sobs echoed throughout the dark halls until suddenly she let out an agonized scream that morphed into a roar. Stiles knew instantly that _everyone_ could hear it.

A cool rush of air met Stiles as Peter shoved him through the double doors to the parking lot. He regained his balance and spun to face him.

"Walk," Peter said, coldly.

"No." Stiles's reply was just as firm if not more. He wasn't doing anything for this asshole. Stiles looked down at himself. There was a splatter of blood on his white dress shirt. His face paled at it.

"I'm sorry," Peter said, condescendingly, "did you think you got a choice in this? Because you don't. Now walk or the huntress is dead. I can't imagine your best friend will want that."

"Peter."

Both of them turned. Mr. Harris stood not far off. Allison was beside him, soaked in sweat. Dry blood crusted up at her hairline with a trickle-trail touching her temple. She held up her trusty crossbow, her hands shaking. Stiles could see it in her eyes though. There was an icy fury directed at Peter. This amused Peter, impressed him even.

"Do you honestly think that that will hurt me," Peter said, his nose twitched and eyes narrowed into a scowl.

"No, but this might!" Mr. Harris threw something and whatever it was, it was on fire.

Without fully knowing what it was, Stiles dived to the side, covering his head. Peter roared. Daring to look, Stiles saw that Peter's entire arm, up over his shoulder was on fire.

"Holy…" Stiles didn't finish. Mr. Harris had thrown a Molotov cocktail at him, and even though that was impressive, Stiles was gaping in horror for another reason. Peter was transforming into a monster. The monster that had been going on a killing spree.

We're going to need back-up, Stiles thought.

A dark figure stepped in front of him right then as if answering his desperate thought. Craning his head back, it was Scott. There was a brief spell of relief. The furious roar from Peter directed at all of them obliterated that.

"Oh no," Stiles uttered under his breath. The entire dance was sure to have heard that. Looking around, he saw that the others had followed out behind Scott. "Go back to the gym!"

He pointed at the double doors. Boyd looked back. Mr. Harris nodded, understanding the panic very quickly. He patted Boyd and Allison and hurried inside, leaving three werewolves and a Stiles to face Peter. Erica, Isaac, and Scott had already shifted. Sharp teeth jutted past their lips. Golden eyes burned with hatred. Deadly claws were tensed and ready to rip through fur and flesh. All the while, Stiles was just standing there with none of this.

Hopefully Mr. Harris and the others would be able to keep the students in the school and away from…away from Brett. Stiles shuddered. He still saw Brett's lifeless eyes, heard his last choking breaths in his head. Stiles's jaw sent an achy chill through his cheeks. The kind of ache you get right before puking, but he held back.

"I'm going to kill you," Erica said with a snarl at the large werewolf. She didn't care that he had a good 150 lbs. on her and was four and a half feet taller on his hind legs. Pure rage fueled her. It fueled all of them. Even Scott.

Nobody attacked. This was that pause, that silence before the major fight to end all fights. Stiles could barely breathe. Each one was shallow and slow. He was afraid to make a sound. Peter paced a couple steps, sizing them up. He looked at the lot of them with a glint of laughter in his red eyes, like they were a joke, like they were nothing.

Without thinking, Stiles reached into his pocket and ran at Peter. He pulled the vile out and threw it. Peter snapped his jaws, smashing the vile in his mouth. His large arm swung out, flinging Stiles across the lot. The crushing blow knocked the air right out of him.

Stiles slid on his back past four cars. He was going to feel that later, not that he didn't feel it now. He felt it. He felt all of the throbbing pain, but he'd feel it more later. He was sure that there were bits of gravel stuck in his back. He jumped to his feet, the adrenaline rush keeping the worst of the aches at bay. Erica, Isaac and Scott were already attacking him. It was a flurry. Stiles cursed to himself. The wolfsbane in that vile must not have been enough. That or it didn't even get in Peter's system.

Peter flung Isaac off of his back, sending the teen wolf flying against a pick-up truck. The side of the vehicle dented from the strength of the throw. Peter threw off Erica next and then Scott. He charged for Erica. Stiles's breath caught. Knowing that he was probably going to die instantaneously, he pulled Erica to her feet and turned so that he stood in front of her as her human shield, her very soft and fleshy human shield.

She overpowered him easily, spinning so that she stood in front of him now. Her dress was completely ruined. The green was now red and brown. Her heels were gone and her hair was a clotted, fuzzy mess on her shoulders. The fairy was gone, replaced with a wolf, but still, she was beautiful. Sad and beautiful.

Peter circled around them and then, as he crouched to come at them, ready for a second attack, he stopped short. He wheezed and gagged. Erica and Stiles exchanged a look then looked back at Peter as he transitioned back to human form. The alpha bore some nasty gashes on his chest and shoulder. Lurching forward on his hands and knees, his back arched up like a cat's and he vomited all over the asphalt. It was a sickly shade of pink.

Stiles smiled right then. The wolfsbane did work. Stiles quickly reached in his pocket for the second vial he had with him and smashed it on the ground as Peter launched at him. A perfect circle of black dust surrounded the werewolf, and he smashed into the invisible barrier of mountain ash.

"Like catching a Pokémon," Stiles muttered.

Scott limped to his side.

"Okay, that was cool," he said.

Stiles looked over at Erica. Tears swelled in her eyes, but she didn't sniff or even look like she was breathing. Very slowly, she approached Peter. All three of them ignored the lack of clothing.

"Go help Isaac," Erica told them.

"Erica-" Stiles started to say.

"Go!"

Scott motioned for him to stay and limped away to get Isaac.

Stiles moved to her side. He knew, with a gut-dropping sense, what was coming. This was the big fight scene after all. Peter stared up at them smugly. He'd lost and yet didn't look defeated at all.

"You killed Brett," Erica said. Her voice was flat and hoarse, making her sound like a bullfrog. "You killed Derek!"

"Poor Princess. You have me all locked up. Can you really kill me? Can you handle that on your conscious?" His eyes narrowed. He looked at Stiles. "Can you handle loving a murderer?"

"Killing you isn't murder. It's a service to this town," Stiles said, gritting through his teeth. It was so cold coming out, but it was right. Peter was a killer.

Without realizing it, Stiles and Erica had stepped too close and Stiles's foot broke the line of mountain ash. In a blur, Peter tackled him to the ground, his hands at his throat. But, the attempt failed. Isaac pulled him off from behind with Scott's help. Stiles saw a flash of Erica's hand rearing up and coming down across the alpha's throat.

Just like Brett, Peter choked and fought to breathe, his eyes bulging from his head. Isaac and Scott let him drop to the ground. Only Scott looked horrified. Isaac breathed hard, his chest rising and falling fast. The stare in his eyes was numb.

Erica pulled Stiles to his feet and hugged him around the neck tightly. She didn't want to let go and neither did he. That was too much of a close call with death. Over her shoulder, Stiles watched as Peter died. The red of his eyes faded to his last breath.

It was over. No more murders. Stiles's mind was racing though. Now that Peter was dead, all he could think about was Brett still dead in that classroom and how he'd been complaining about his younger sister just earlier tonight. She was never going to see her brother again. She was an only child now. Stiles never used to think that was such a bad thing seeing as he was one, but now it was the worst thing in the world. He glanced over at Isaac. If he'd died…the dorky tree was like his brother. So was Scott. Stiles couldn't fathom it anymore, but his brain wasn't shutting out the images or emotions. Brett was really gone.

More so, as he held Erica, he realized what Peter's death meant. He'd done the research. Erica killed an alpha. When a werewolf killed an alpha werewolf they got their power. That defeat makes them the next leader. The next alpha.

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 **Don't forget to review, loves.**


	19. Epilogue

**Here we are. At the end of the story. It's been such a pleasure to write it and I'm so glad you've enjoyed it. Truly.**

 **Also, give props to the one who came up with this idea: orionastro. I'm just the one who brought life to it.**

 **Again, thank you.**

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Epilogue

Winter break came and passed and then so did Spring and Summer. And then it was Fall again. The air was still hot and muggy. The leaves were still green. They wouldn't start falling until December.

Stiles pulled into the school parking lot and parked next to Allison's car. Scott and Allison leaned against the silver paint job, their fingers intertwined. Erica's car pulled up a few minutes later and Stiles still hadn't gotten out. Boyd did to join Scott and Allison. Erica and Brett's sister got out of the car. She was in ninth grade this year. After last fall, Stiles had taken it upon himself to look after. So did Isaac and Boyd. She'd joined them while Erica trotted to the Jeep. Boyd tousled Tiny's hair. That's what he'd nicknamed her and it caught on with everyone. So she came into high school with friends and family. Not alone.

"Did Isaac get settled alright?" Scott asked.

"Yeah. Boyd and I helped him move in," Stiles said. Erica leaned into his side, running her hand across his waist, hugging him.

Isaac got accepted into UCLA with three recommendation letters, once of which surprisingly came from Mr. Harris. His grade point average got him a scholarship. He seemed to be fitting in alright and even found a basement deep down in one of the building to hide out in on a full moon. He also met a girl. Said that she was pretty cool. She's the daughter of one of his professors. Her name is Kira. Sounds like he really likes her.

Mr. Harris walked past them on his way into the school. Stiles gave nod and smirked at receiving one in return.

"I think he's starting to like you," Allison said, jokingly.

"Mr. Stilinski," Mr. Harris called, "let's not be late before the first bell. It would be a shame for you to get detention on the first day of school."

Scott's head flew back and he let out a bark of laughter.

"That goes for you too, Mr. McCall," Mr. Harris said.

Scott went quiet and Allison and Erica cracked up, Allison patted him on the chest. Stiles grinned goofily.

"Did any of you catch the new meat that rolled in this morning?" Lydia strolled up next to Allison. "So delectable."

"I heard about new kids," Boyd said.

"Twins," Lydia said and bit her lower lip excitedly.

Jackson passed by the group with Danny. They were in deep conversation. Lydia avoided his gaze. He wasn't completely psycho anymore, but he and Lydia were still done and for good it looked like. He didn't glare with hatred or nod in any way to show friendliness.

That's when they walked past. Erica stiffened next to Stiles and Boyd's brow creased intensely. Scott's arm that rest on Allison's shoulders tensed and his fingers pressed into her ivory skin as if to protect her. The twins didn't give any of them a second glance let alone a first one. The entire group knew though. The twins were werewolves. And they knew that the twins knew about them too, probably.

Stiles kissed the top of Erica's head. Her eyes dimmed from alpha red and she relaxed. The way Stiles smiled down at her, completely collected and unfazed made her glow with warmth from the inside out. She was sure he'd matured quite a bit over the last year. And then Scott made a moronic comment and Stiles laughed along with it, diminishing her thought.

She kissed him on the cheek. The past few months had been tricky and hard and she knew that. She was grateful about how good he'd been to her. Being the new alpha on the block wasn't easy. There was no replacing Derek Hale.

And then there was Brett. She was still having nightmares about Homecoming night. There were times that she'd snuck into Stiles's room and stayed the night because of them. Most nights she didn't fall back asleep, but she was getting better.

This year was…it was going to be interesting.

"Let's get it on, shall we?" Erica looked at the rest of them. Stiles grinned ear to ear.

"Sounds like fun. But let's not get into any fights. We've got all year," Stiles said.

"I'm actually trying not to get into fights," Boyd commented.

Scott snorted.

"Guaranteed there's one a practice," he said.

They walked toward the building toward Junior year. Stiles already knew that new things were coming. He just wasn't sure whether they'd be good or bad.


End file.
